


Tides of Existence

by NaryaOfFire



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Action/Adventure, Chiss (Star Wars), Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars), Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Empire of the Hand, F/M, Gen, Imperial Guard, Imperium of Man - Freeform, Mechanicus, Other, Romance, Science Fiction, Space Marines, Strategy & Tactics, Trying to make a story that emulates the feel of both universes, Unknown Regions, War, stormtroopers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaryaOfFire/pseuds/NaryaOfFire
Summary: As a military outcast creates a bulwark against the dangers lurking beyond known space, a vast Crusade sets forth to fight the xenos enemies of the Emperor. The Empire of the Hand shall be faced with a true threat when the children of Holy Terra become stranded beyond the guiding light of their God-Emperor and endless war is brought to the worlds of an unsuspecting galaxy.
Relationships: OC & OC
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Warhammer or Star Wars in any way. If I did, things might still exist that should remain in the light of day. Please don't lynch me for what I write.

Daerfesh heaved a fallen piece of duracrete off of himself. A groan escaped his lips as he slowly lifted his head off of the ground. His vision spun violently, the fires of a burning city appearing as fuzzy blotches on the landscape.

A thick haze covered his eyes as he absently wiped his hands across his face. His hands came away sticky and he stared at the blood dribbling down his arms. The red river flowed from his missing fingers! He couldn’t understand what was going on. He felt so numb.

Then, screams began to replace the sound of the ringing in his ears. Like thunder in both sound and distance, it rapidly closed in. Daerfesh looked away from his outstretched hands to see his vision had cleared, with details coming into focus. Details of the hellscape he was trapped in.

Fires raged wherever he turned, rubble strewn everywhere like sand on a storm-torn beach. The buildings still standing were pockmarked and filled with the refuse of their own interiors, little more than shells. Beings fled back and forth, screaming in panic, thrashing with unrestrained animal fear. The blood, _the blood_ , was everywhere; different colored splotches dotting his vision like the mad paintings of a cruel child.

A high pitch whistle, a flash of light and he was thrown backward, hitting a wall with a resounding crack. He landed in a jumbled heap, ears ringing, head buzzing. He couldn’t feel a thing. He needed to move. Limb by limb he tested himself until he could lay flat on his back, eyes listlessly staring upward.

The once bright blue sky was marred by endless stream of smoke. They curled upward like the ghosts of the dead seeking escape. Comets of fire hung suspended in the atmosphere against the backdrop of devastation. His world was dying. The souls aboard the flaming orbital emplacements above him were the lucky ones. As he watched, an alien ship pierced the smoke far above. He could reach out and cup it in his hand.

Pain invaded his head and reality came back. He had to move, had to get out of danger. He struggled to his feet and walked over to the new whole in the building wall, scrambling into the new crater and up over the edge. His foot caught on the edge of the pit and sent him stumbling forward. He tried to throw out his hands and stop his face from colliding with solid duracrete, but his bloodied hands buckled when bloodied stumps of fingers met the ground. He awkwardly rolled headlong into a wrecked speeder.

Stars filled his vision before he swallowed the taste of copper and rose to his feet. People were running past him, away from something. What that was became clear when the boxy head of an AT-ST appeared over the tops of building to his right. The walker turned to-and-fro as its laser cannons fired a steady tempo of death. It continued forward and the sound of blaster rifles could be heard from where he was. Around him, a few citizens had stopped and cheered on the metal symbol of Imperial might.

His reassurances died as a bright green figure appeared out of nowhere and attached itself to the back of the head chassis. It raised some sort of weapon and _cut_ its way through the metal, pulled the drivers out single-handedly and launched them out of his sight. The walker wobbled back and forth, crewless, before an impact smacked it off its feet. Daerfesh turned and began to run while the sound of the walker impact rumbled through his feet. People began to scream and panic yet again. He may have been one of them.

His breathing became far too ragged, his head becoming dizzy with exertion. He stumbled time after time trying to keep up with the retreating crowds, but his slow progress left him far behind. Up ahead the crowds parted, and he could see a barricade of ruined vehicles with the gleaming white armor of storm troopers behind it. His heart soared at the sight of safety so close to him

He struggled closer and closer. One of the soldiers leaned over the barricade and yelled something, pointing at him. Immediately, two others leaped the barrier and ran towards him.

Armored boots scrambled across uneven terrain and came to a stop near him. He could feel two arms loop underneath his own as trained muscles moved him swiftly back behind cover.

“Come on citizen, pick up the pace. They’re less than a klick away,” said a breathy voice in his left ear.

“Just carry him you idiot. Can’t you see he’s in shock? He’s getting blood everywhere,” came a raspy voice from the right. “Get him to a medic, stat. He might be salvageable.”

A grunt of agreement was the last thing said as they pulled him over the barrier and into a throng of civilians and soldiers milling between around in the street. One of the arms left his body and the first storm trooper carried him towards the closest bombed-out building that sat along the boulevard.

“Grebble, I got some missing fingers here. Where do you want me to put him?” The medic in question, wearing padded plastoid plates and a medics armband, looked up from the woman he was working on. From where he stood she looked normal.

The medic’s eyes glanced at Daerfesh’s bloodied hand, before setting aside the medkit in his hand. He whispered something to the woman who began to lie on her side, revealing a hideous burn that had seared the exposed skin to the unburned clothing, covered in clear bacta patches that stretched from her cheek down to her thigh. He felt suddenly ill.

“Put him anywhere. Smear some bacta on it; I’ll get to him later.” If the medic had not been military, Daerfesh would have taken him for a bored clerk. He speech was devoid of urgency.

The storm trooper that brought him in led him to a nearby wall and unceremoniously dumped him there. The soldier reached over to a nearby rubble pile and picked up a small table, cracked it open and smeared the light blue liquid over the still-bleeding fingers.

“Here,” the storm trooper said, “Try not to let you hand get dir-.” The filtered voice stopped, while the armored head cocked slightly to the side. Daerfesh’s heart sank with the sudden increase of sound outside. They were coming.

“We have an armored column inbound Grebble. Grab your blaster.” The storm trooper stood upon and hesitated. He unhooked a small blaster pistol from his belt and tossed it to Daerfesh. Blood-slicked hands fumbled with the pistol, barely managing to catch it. The storm trooper hesitated again before following the medic out.

Orders were barked in the smoky air. Repulsorlift vehicles hummed in an ever-growing crescendo. The clank of walkers shook the building. Then, all was quiet. His hands shook slightly as he checked the power pack. It was half full, enough for a few shots before being depleted.

The silence was broken by a whistling shriek.

Across the room, the burned woman cowered in fear and whimpered, shying away from bits of molten metal that rained down through broken windows. Shouts for fire support, medics and reinforcements echoed from street to street. Everything from blaster rifles to heavy cannons roared and lit up the shadows with red, strobing light. Above it all he could hear the steady beat of war drums and feet, heavy feet, from back the way he had come. Ever closer the marching drew, causing more death and mayhem by the minute, slaughtering Imperial troopers with ease.

The pistol was all but forgotten in his hands. He was afraid and locked in a battle between fight or flight while the real fighters died or retreated and left him with the rumble of treads and hundreds of feet passing by his hiding place. He could hear strange voices speaking an unknown language. The time to flee had come and gone.

A blue, armored figure stepped through the open door. He closed his eyes desperately hoping to be invisible

The ground shook underneath him, pounding away as if the heart of his world was made audible. Louder and louder it grew until a shadow passed over him.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up until a skull-like helmet came into focus. Whatever it may have been, human or alien; it was enormous, towering above any normal being. It was armored head-to-toe, a harbinger of war and destruction. In its massive hands it wielded a blaster that would have looked at home on a speeder; at its side a vicious-looking melee weapon hung from a strap, but rather than a blade it had jagged teeth from the tip to the cross guard. Even as fuzzy as his mind was, he could hear the weapon rumble from where he lay. He dully remembered he had his own weapon. Too bad he was too scared to do anything about it.

For a long second the skull frowned down at him. At last the figure aimed the blaster at him, the barrel mere inches from his face. He dimly realized he could see a projectile, nearly the size of a glow rod, in the barrel. So, it wasn’t a blaster after all. He focused back on the skull at the sound of a harsh, grating voice.

“Die content knowing the stain of your heresy will no longer blight the galaxy. May the Holy Emperor forgive you.”

The monster pulled the trigger. 


	2. Fog Gatherers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a military outcast creates a bulwark against the dangers lurking beyond known space, a vast Crusade sets forth to fight the xenos enemies of the Emperor. The Empire of the Hand shall be faced with a true threat when the children of Holy Terra become stranded beyond the guiding light of their God-Emperor and endless war is brought to the worlds of an unsuspecting galaxy.

Junior Communications Officer Lieutenant Strave Ristoff stared at the screen in front of him. The screen stared back. For nearly 11 hours he had been at his post in the bowels of the space station, monitoring his assigned channels. A cold cup of caf adorned his work station and, although it had lost its appeal, the energy it provided was keeping fatigue at bay. He let out a small sigh, reaching for the cup, wishing the next hour would be done with already.

“Ugh. If I drink any more I’m going to start pissing pure caf. The least they could do is try to make it palatable.” His comrade and long-time friend, Garred, made a face as he sipped his own bitter caffeine fixing.

“They warned us about that before we shipped, if you recall. ‘You’ll hate it but you can’t live without it’. Of course I thought they were kidding around and I’ve never been more aggravated that someone was right.” Strave gulped the last remnants and held the empty cup out to his crew mate. Garred pointedly remained focused on his screen, sipping his own last drops.

“Hey, Garred. Garred. Garred.” Silence. “Junior Communications Officer Ordez. Junior Communications Officer Ordez. Juni-“

“Alright! Alright! I’ll get you some damn caf just please shut up and go back to not being annoying.” Garred snatched the empty cup from his triumphant partner and walked toward a side room, grumbling all the way.

Strave grinned in satisfaction as he adjusted the comlink headset to a slightly more comfortable position. A flashing signal alerted him to a holonet transmission from the planet Arriez 3, according to his instruments. It was probably some wet-behind-the-ears ensign being shown the ropes of interstellar communication, making his first transmission to prove he could press the right buttons.

“Arriez 3 control, this is Relay Station Sun Archon receiving your transmission, over.” He realized it was a prerecorded message when a voice began to speak over him, not acknowledging the living presence on his end. He stopped dead as the message continued to play, not even noticing when the new cup of caf was placed by his arm. He started the recording software at his station and prepared a link to his superior, face ashen with the grave news.

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“Have we received any other communications from the system, besides the transmission?”

“No sir. Nothing out of the ordinary from the rest of the sector either. Probes and reconnaissance vessels have already been dispatched but we can have a naval squadron their within 40 hours.”

“No…not yet, not until we know more. Sending any significant amount of ships blindly into an unknown situation is a simple way to get soldiers killed. Have you listened to it yourself, Parck?”

“Yes sir, I listened to it fully before bringing it to your attention.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to make too many assumptions but I fear we have another threat to handle. If someone had the power, or gall, to attack a planet controlled by the Hand, then we should worry.”

“Hm. Was that the only information you gleaned from the message? Have no fear; I’m simply sating my curiosity.”

“Ah… curiosity, Admiral?”

“I am very well aware of my abilities and that others do not have them Captain. Indulge me for a moment, tell me what you hear.”

“Of course sir. Well, we verified that the stormtrooper who sent the message is, or was, in fact real and stationed on Arriez 3. After ruling out falsification, we determined that the transmission’s origin was correct. He mentioned an unknown fleet which means it is not in our databases but that’s not surprising with how little our expeditionary task forces have managed to map out.”

“A disappointing start but you may be redeemable yet. Did you find anything strange with his review of events?”

“Not particularly, we run into so many strange civilizations I have learned to not take anything for granted out here but…”

“I can see you sense something amiss. Follow your intuition Parck; it would be beneficial to us both.”

“My only concerns are the bombings and the fact that the aggressors were identified as humans. According to the trooper, it was indiscriminate, yet there are assets worth capturing on the planet, assets that anyone familiar with warfare would recognize. Surely the munitions factories, mines and refineries would have been better intact: the metals in its crust were worth the fleet guarding it alone.”

“Now you are asking the right questions Captain. Perhaps there is an explanation, one that fits the given reports.”

“What would that be? If I may ask, sir.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn looked up from the miniature bust he had been contemplating since Captain Voss Parck had entered his quarters. His red eyes betrayed nothing to the human captain except the calm authority he radiated.

“I have theories but nothing that would be helpful at this time.” The Chiss paused. “I need more data,” he said, as if to himself. Parck waited patiently, unconcerned with the strange turn of events or his superior’s apparent lack of certainty in their course. If he said it was not worth offering, then Parck believed him.

“When reconnaissance establishes the system is free of hostiles, I want us headed their immediately. Alert the 2nd Fleet reserve elements at Phisht to make ready in the same way.” Parck saluted and turned to leave the spacious quarters.

“And have the recon vessels collect anything useful they might find. Also, find out what sort of art the planet’s governor was interested in. I would prefer samples if we have access to it.” The Grand Admiral called out, still staring at the sculpted head of an alien culture. Parck nodded, leaving to carry out his duties.

The silence stretched on long after Parck had left. The chiss considered idle thought to be wasteful but Thrawn allowed himself a few precious moments to let his mind rest. He picked up the bust reverently and placed it back on the shelf it had occupied, resuming its vigilance along with the rest of his physical collection. The artwork he kept in his private quarters was just a fraction of what he had access to. He found the specimens in front of him to be of particular value, even if they weren’t the most aesthetically appealing.

The blue-skinned admiral returned to his desk. He sat down and activated the holo-recorder, steepling his fingers in front of his face and listening.

“To anyone who can hear me, this is Sergeant Carlid, 23rd Stormtrooper Corp stationed on the planet Arriez 3 in the Hades Sector. We are under assault, I repeat, under assault by unknown hostiles. Both Guardian Fleet and orbital emplacements have been destroyed by an unknown fleet and the enemy has made landfall, I repeat, enemy forces have made landfall. Bombings are taking place all across the city, no areas considered safe. Enemy troops are- wait,” in the background a mess of voices could be heard, as well as the heavy thud of AT-ST’s. “We have confirmation that enemy forces are humanoid. No, _human_ , enemy soldiers are human! They have-,” explosions overloaded the audio receiver, the barking of orders and the sound of blaster fire filling the quiet room. Deep twangs of mounted cannons broke up the lighter zings of handheld blasters, while sharp cracks signaled thermal detonations. Then, too quick to be any vehicle employed by The Empire of the Hand, the sounds of enormous stomping approached the communicator as chaos erupted over the speaker.

“What the hell is that!?”

“Holy shit it’s got a-“

“Focus fire, focus fi-“

“They’re just melti-“

“It went right through the le-“

“Call in an artillery strike, you-“

As The Hand’s finest soldiers screamed in panic and fury, the cries of the dying rang out like the bells of doom. Behind the yells, a buzzing roar undercut each agonizing scream of the men that were ultimately under his command. Had he been a more sentimental man, Thrawn knew he would be suffering over the, no doubt, brutal deaths these men had faced. The transmission quickly grew quiet after a harsh howl signaled the user’s death. At the edge of his hearing, the chiss could make out an unidentified language being spoken by many voices, each one different.

Without warning the message ended, followed by a few minor details that the specialist who had the received the transmission recorded. At the moment they were of little consequence to the admiral, who felt a twinge of something at the thought of what lay out there. He had faced many strange and truly alien threats, here at the edge of the galaxy but not something like this. Preparations would have to be made, plans set in motion, pieces moved to strategic positions, but not much else before he had more information. The chiss made a mental note to contact officials on Csilla Their databanks were vast and the details records they contained could be very useful if they had made any contact with this threat.

He stood up from his chair and left his chambers, striding towards the turbolift that would take him to the star destroyers command deck. No doubt news of the transmission and its contents had spread. It was time to take command of the situation and keep negative emotions from running rampant through the rank and file.

As he stepped into the waiting turbolift, Thrawn considered his next move. A new player had sat down at the Dejarek table and it would be foolishness to reveal his own capabilities when he had so little information. Better to wait then proceed carefully.

The turbolift slowed to a halt and he stepped past two ensigns who saluted him, entering the now-vacant transport behind him. He nodded but otherwise continued to mull over things inside his head on his way to the bridge. He remained inwardly undisturbed until he took his place upon his command chair, looking out over his ever-growing fleet through the viewport of the _Admonitor’s_ command tower. He filed away the future plans and turned his attention back to the crew members awaiting his commands.

“Tell the rest of the fleet to commence War-Games Scenario Three, Captain Parck. And be sure to let them know that today’s winner will be awarded an additional week of leave for their crew.” At his words, the nervous energy of the bridge staff was replaced with a subtle sense of excitement. While Parck remained straight-faced, Thrawn could see the slight tug at the corner of the man’s mouth. He turned away from the admiral and addressed the command pits around him.

“You heard him men: Alpha Fleet can take up defensive positions and Bravo Fleet can commence invasion. Don’t forget to pass along word of the prize. Now,” the captain smiled devilishly, “let’s defend this planet.”

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“I told you, all the information I have is in the report.” He had had been in this cell for who-knows-how-long, answering question after question from different people. The latest was a light-skinned chiss who seemed intent on asking the exact same questions as her predecessors.

“I have no doubt that the report you filed is thorough but I still need you to answer my questions Lieutenant.” She remained focused on the datasheet in her hands, not having looked up since the interrogation had started. “Who contacted you with this information?”

“Look, I told the last two the same thing that was in the report. I’ll tell you the same thing: It was a recorded message. No person actually spoke to me.” This experience was getting under his skin more and more.

“After receiving the transmission, what did you do next?” Oh great, she was making notes. The chiss’ red eyes unnerved him but he would rather have had at least a little eye contact. Not this show of dominance.

“Does the report really not say any of this? Or do you think I falsified it, for some reason?” He felt his military professionalism slip minutely beneath the strain of his time in this cell. He was tired of the senseless repetition.

The woman finally set her data sheet down on the table between them and he sensed he was now getting her full attention. Her full, red-eyed stare sent tingles up his spine and he regretted wishing for the gaze.

“Lieutenant Ristoff, I am simply making sure that the info you have provided is accurate and true. Now,” her voice went from calm to deadly in the space of a breath, “Please answer my question. After receiving the transmission, what did you do next.”

He gulped and straightened up in his seat, shifting back and forth to give himself some time to pull his wits back firmly under his own control.

“After I received the message, I followed protocol and recorded the transmission in its entirety. I then entered the time received, length of the transmission and other such details that we are supposed to make note of.” He hoped she would be happy with the answer and move on.

“Other details such as what, Lieutenant?” came the cool voice as his stomach sank. He realized this conversation would not be quick, but at least she had gone back to taking notes.

“Where exactly the message was received from, the relays it had passed through, all speakers in the transmission and who it was being passed to next.” She nodded at his words and scribbled something down.

“Were there any other transmissions or communications received from that system for the remainder of the time that you were on duty?” She scrolled with a blue finger while writing with the other hand.

“No ma’am, not while I was there.” He figured it was the fifth time he had answered that question. He hoped there wasn’t a need for a sixth.

“And did you speak to anyone else about any aspect of this transmission?” She looked straight at him again, not even blinking.

“Not directly ma’am, but my colleagues and I can tell when something important comes through. No details were shared though.” She held his gaze, almost as if searching his face for the answers she sought. After a few seconds the woman relented and stood up, collecting the items she had brought with her.

“Our session is over Lieutenant. You shall be escorted to quarters until your reassignment.” He had let out a silent breath when she announced they were finished but couldn’t stop the violent sigh that left his lips when he couldn’t control his surprise.

“Reassignment? But where-“

“The details of your new assignment are classified and will be disclosed upon your arrival. In the meantime, you are advised to speak to no one about your experiences here or about the transmission you received from the Hades sector during your last posting. And no, you may not contact anyone about your latest task. Are we clear?” Her last question brooked no argument and he knew better than to argue with someone he was beginning to think had to do with an intelligence agency.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered automatically. No need to dig himself deeper into this mess than was necessary.

She didn’t acknowledge him anymore, just swept out of the room. Two storm troopers walked through the open door and stopped to either side of him. He wondered what had gone wrong since yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A setup and slow burn. That's what these first chapters are. Don't worry folks, the other side will gets its due.


	3. Where Feet May Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a military outcast creates a bulwark against the dangers lurking beyond known space, a vast Crusade sets forth to fight the xenos enemies of the Emperor. The Empire of the Hand shall be faced with a true threat when the children of Holy Terra become stranded beyond the guiding light of their God-Emperor and endless war is brought to the worlds of an unsuspecting galaxy.

“Your enthusiasm is warranted, but very much misplaced.”

“With all due respect Grand Admiral, this is no time to be away from the front lines. Your leadership and expertise are needed if we are to face this threat.”

“I cannot simply leave the war games. To do so would endanger our relations with our allies.”

“Then at least postpone your expedition until a better time.”

Thrawn studied the hologram of his fellow Chiss. The upper body of his trusted lieutenant floated above the holoprojector in his darkened cabin.

“Are you afraid?” The grainy image of the Chiss blinked at the question.

“You are mistaking healthy caution for abject terror, Grand Admiral. A strategically vital world has been conquered under our very noses, I am exercising the right amount of worry.”

“You are letting your emotions cloud you decision-making faculties. I will continue to be present until the war games have concluded, and then I depart for Coruscant.”

“I must protest this, Grand Admiral. We must muster a fleet and retake Arriez 3.”

“Be very cautious with your words, Prime Operative Tord'orez'oacors.” Thrawn’s voice dropped in pitch, his words slow and measured. The Chiss operative straightened imperceptibly.

“I have already delayed my mission long enough. The rebels will take Borleias in a matter of weeks and I must be in and out before that happens.” Thrawn drew out the intervening silence, allowing his Intelligence commander to accept what was to be.

“While I am indisposed, I am placing you in charge of reconnaissance. Should more come of this situation in my absence, you have the authority to do what is necessary to defend The Empire of the Hand.”

“As you command, Grand Admiral.”

“Do not cause undue panic Prime Operative,” Thrawn said, warning the other Chiss. “The public must not be made of aware of the full situation yet.”

“Yes, Grand Admiral.” The operative inclined his head as Thrawn terminated the link. He retreated from his quarters, making his back to the bridge. Halfway down the hall, an idea occurred to him. His stride changed direction, heading towards the turbolifts that led to the gundecks.

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He finally admitted to himself that commercial trading had become boring. Carrying tons of food stuffs, trade goods or, if he was lucky, military equipment between distant stars was now just another mundane task to get through. Load up the hold with cargo at Point A. Travel to Your Average System. Unload cargo at Point B. Week in, week out, the thrill of exploring new places had been slowly eroded by repetition.

The human reclined in the pilots’ chair, waiting for the signal to drop out of hyperspace so he could drown his woes at the nearest bar. He did not relish these last moments of waiting. To him, the expectation of what was coming ruined his last few moments of peace. To his right, a console beeped, signaling it was time. He sighed and opened his eyes to the swirls of hyperspace.

“Bridge to Bratch, two minutes until we drop. Can you pull yourself away from your reports or can I do my job unsupervised? Because, you know, I’m capable. As in, you don’t have to be here for all maneuvers or jumps or landings. Or anything in fact, you could worry about your own… whatever you really do besides pay us. That IS why you hired professionals,” he drawled into the intercom, tweaking a few controls on the console.

“Captain. As always, you may call me Captain, Mr. Forcry,” came the exasperated reply. “I will be down momentarily, Mr. Forcry. Please hold off doing anything until after we arrive, I would prefer to be there for the approach.” Stahl Forcry never wasted an opportunity to annoy his employer. It was one of the few joys that kept sustained him through the drudgery of mercantile hauling. Thankfully, his employer understood that whatever might emerge from Stahl’s maw was insignificant compared to the skills the man possessed. He didn’t want to sound his own klaxon, but he knew he was good; his final exam scores from the Nirauan academy proved that.

His life could have been so much more were it not for the party incident the night before his graduation. The memory still squeezed a chuckle out of him to this day. His copilot, the only other crewmember of their merry band, spoke up beside him.

“You know he’s going to do something about your comments one of these days. You’re gonna get a little too smart and then I’ll have to find someone else to help me fly this box.” The Peroenian next to him glared daggers at the laid-back pilot, pausing in his button pushing.

“Hey! I know how far is too far. I’ve had plenty of practice with you, Six Fingers. Now push some stuff and get ready for reversion.” He had no desire to start something with the yellow-haired humanoid, not when his freedom was so close at hand. “Reversion in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…” The blue tunnel of hyperspace collapsed as stars snapped into focus, their planetary destination sitting in the center of their viewport.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. The _Argent Widow_ has arrived safely and will be planetside within seven standard hours. Please fasten your restraints, no telling who’s going to try and get in front of us on the way down. We’ll let you know when we hit duracrete.” He clicked off the intercom and set in the course for Arriez 3. The thrum of the engines echoed through the deck plates a microsecond after the coordinates were entered. With their course laid in, the constraints of space travel gave him just enough to time to bask in his own greatness.

“Sandy, I have movement on sensors.”

“Don’t call me that. It’s a busy system, lots of traffic. What’s the big deal?”

“Well, Sandy, it’s coming from right behind us and- stang its fast. Someone must be in a hurry. Nudge us a couple hundred meters starboard, let them pass us.”

“Who’s the pilot here Six-Fingers? And stop calling me that.” Forcry nudged the joystick to the right before correcting their course.

“Whoa!” his copilot said worriedly, “it changed course, heading toward us again.” Alarm bells went off in the veteran pilot’s head. An itch he hadn’t felt since the days of the academy flight simulators crawled up his neck.

“Do you have an IFF tag on our fast friend?” he said, muscles ready. His alien copilot pressed a few buttons before answering.

“No, not reading anything, but it’s picking up spee-” His words were cut short as the ships inertial compensator tried to keep him from being thrown across the cockpit.

“That’s not a ship you idiot that’s a fracking projectile! Be useful and tell me how far away that thing is!” he said, putting the ship through several maneuvers. His copilot clung to the instrument panel in front of him as he began reading off distances.

“Two kilometers and closing! 1500 meters! Fierfeck it’s going even faster!” The planet spun in place as Forcry pulled out every maneuver he knew of, anything to shake the death tube on their tail. He sincerely regretted not applying for a smaller, more maneuverable vessel than the tub he was trying to fly like a Headhunter.

“750 meters! Kriff, kriff, kriff, kriff, kriff, if it gets any closer we’ll be riding the fracking thing!” Forcry deactivated the engines safeties and poured every ounce of juice he could spare into their escape, watching the readouts climb higher and higher as he and his copilot were pushed into their seats.

“I swear, if we die Sixer I’m going to kill you!”

“Incoming!”

“You just had to call me ‘Sandy’ didn’t you, had to annoy the hell out of me!”

“Incoming!”

“Will you shut up and read me the vaping numbers you red-skinned, blonde-haired fre-”

“INCOMING!”

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When _The Convictor_ dropped out of hyperspace, its crew was greeted by the aftermath of a battle. It appeared no different than other battlefields across the galaxy, but its captain knew otherwise. The human eyed the orbiting ball of life beyond his viewport.

“Cut drives and lock down all active scanning, no comms traffic. I want updates every five minutes.” Crewmembers worked frantically to comply quickly, relaying commands to the people spread out across The Hand’s 14th Survey Force.

“Engines at standby, passive scanning running sir,” the lead navigator sounded out. “At normal speed we will enter the planet’s gravity well in two hours and 24 minutes.”

“We’re passing through a minor debris field now, but I’m not reading any active signatures in local space or planetside. Probe droids are away,” came the voice of the _carrack_ -class’ sensor officer.

“Beam it to my terminal and download a copy to the black box. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of place. We’re better off alive than dead.”

“Dead men tell no tales,” the bridge crew chorused.

“Right you are, mates, right you are. If there’s nothing on scope, then take us in, navigator. Helm, I want an emergency jump ready at all times.” The captain activated the comms. “Lieutenant, have the shuttles prepped for atmospheric drop when we achieve orbit.”

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The frigate’s hangar was crowded as crewmen readied the two gunships and landing ship with equipment and personnel. Soldiers of The Hand checked weapons and armor, while flight crew members loaded missiles onto the ships. Pilots space-walked onto racks built into the sides of the ship and prepped their TIE Defenders, readying them for immediate launch.

While everyone rushed back and forth, a single squad of The Hand’s finest stood calmly against the wall near the hangars main entrance.

“Devawn, quit staring at the ensign’s ass. That hydrospanner will hurt even through the armor.” Devawn blinked at the words in his ear, letting the sight of a female flight-crew member bending over to pick up power cells slide from his view as he faced his female squad-mate.

“Excuse you, but that fantastic ass has a name attached to it.” A smirk split Devawn’s face. “Besides, it would be a crime to take a hydrospanner to this face, even if she were inclined to it.”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say. Lucky for her, she can’t see the face you call a train wreck beneath that bucket.” The blue-striped helmet of Taigen didn’t even bother to face the lecherous trooper, instead staring at the hangar door, watching personnel pass through the air-tight entryway and speaking at him from her place on a nearby crate.

“You’re one to talk, Taigen. I don’t see you melting in horror in the barracks showers or during our last leave on Phist.” The remark prompted a snort from the other member of their squad. The female stormtrooper tensed up at the rebuke, finally turning towards her counterpart in the conversation. If looks could kill, Devawn was sure that Taigen would have reduced him to ashes on the flight deck.

“Just because you have nice-looking abs doesn’t mean you don’t have a face only a mother could love,” she said, her voice biting and without pity. “And by the way, those abs have more personality than you ever will.” Devawn smiled at her words, feeling a twinge of excitement at her feistiness.

“Careful what you say, my abs might start quivering with joy at your approval,” he said. That received more than a few chuckles and snorts from those present. As for Amarrile Taigen, she crossed her arms and turned back to the starfield.

All of this took place with nothing visible or audible from any other of the servicemen in the hangar. Trained to peak performance as well as discipline, the back and forth of their remarks took place with very few visible cues, the audio being restricted to the squad’s personal channel within the sound-proof helmets.

Devawn turned back to the female flight-crew member who was now attaching the enormous power cells to slots in the underbelly of the drop ships for later use. The word ‘men’ could be heard across the radio channel and Devawn felt a smirk tug at his mouth.

“Oh joy. Just what I wanted to hear this early in the artificial morning, the married couple at it again.” Sibilen snapped a personal calibrator back onto his armor and started up the E-web with a whir. He checked the portable power cell, nodding his head in satisfaction when it showed a full charge. Before anyone could remark further, the fourth member of their elite unit marched through the hangar doors.

“Listen up Black Star, we have our orders from on high: we’ll be going down in dropship three for recon and sentinel duty,” the squad leader said, pocketing the datapad in his hands.

“Please tell me you’re joking. I didn’t want to babysit anyone this tour,” Devawn muttered through the squad channel, their leader pulling out a set of data wafers. Resd handed them out, slotting his last one into the side of his armor. Relevant data began to stream across the inside of their visors as the black-pauldroned squad commander began to explain.

“Fortunately for you, Private, Hand command is serious.” The sergeant highlighted the mission-critical info and drew the squad’s attention to it. “As of yesterday, Arriez 3 has ceased all communication with the wider galaxy. The last transmission we received was a call for help after an invasion by unknown hostiles. Orbital defenses had been eliminated and a ground conflict had commenced.”

“You mean we lost an entire fleet AND the planetary defenses for one of the most heavily guarded shipyards we own,” Taigen exclaimed in disbelief, scrolling through the list of military units assigned to the planet. “What kind of timeframe are we talking about here?”

“We have no idea. No other suspicious transmissions were sent out.”

“So, we have a smash and grab accompanied by a total communications blackout, emphasis on the smash. Not a whole lot of people who could have pulled that off,” muttered the brawny Sibilen.

“Who did it is not our concern, only that we collect as much evidence as possible and keep the science geeks safe,” Resd said, steering the conversation back onto its proper course. “Once we land, we have six hours to determine whether it’s safe and establish a forward base of operations.”

“Feels weird when you say it like that,” Sibilen said, powering down his E-web blaster. “It almost sounds like we’re scouting out a hostile planet, rather than one of our worlds.”

“From the way the sergeant’s talking, I’m going to assume it’s not our turf anymore,” Devawn replied. “Is it?” Resd sighed, wiping his visor clean with the blink of an eye.

“The official word is that we are here to determine the extent of the damage and either drive away any remaining hostiles or call for more back up if the ship can’t handle it.” The sergeant paused.

“What does scuttlebutt say?” asked Taigen.

“Unofficial word is that we’re picking through a graveyard for clues on what the hell happened here.” The squad leader had the full attention of his comrades. “Casualties are probably near total for civilian and military personal in major city centers. Long-range scans show no IFF signatures within the system.” His helmet swiveled back and forth. “Need I go on?”

“No sir, you’ve painted a pretty grim picture already,” Devawn said, frowning beneath his own helmet. “Who’s the tech-head they want us to babysit?”

“It certainly isn’t me,” interrupted Taigen.

“We are all well aware you can handle herself in a spork fight,” he shot back.

“No clue, we’ll find out when they set down,” the sergeant resumed. Behind their squad, the whine of engines began to fill the air. “Saddle up on transport three, code-named Firebird for this mission.” The four of them jogged across the hangar and climbed into the troop transport, equipment and all. The ship doors closed, sealing them inside the boxy shuttle.

“Wish we could have ridden in the landing ship,” Sibilen groused. “Would have been a lot more room.” He shifted his hold on the E-web, banging it against several of the troopers crowded together. “Sorry guys, not a lot of room in here,” he apologized through the helmet’s speakers. Taigen squeezed through the press, positioning herself near the barrel of the anti-infantry blaster. He nodded in appreciation.

“No need for the others to get bruised shins,” she said, shrugging. They both lapsed into thought, hanging onto the handholds as they rocketed away from the ship. Sibilen pulled himself from ideas on how to increase the sights for the E-web to see his compatriot twisting the pistol grip of her blaster in her hand.

“Don’t keep them pent up, hun,” he murmured through a private channel. Her helmet turned in his direction, the nervous tick ceasing.

“Stop reading me.” Her helmet turned away, the tone as final as the action. He felt a twinge in his cheek, wishing she wasn’t so suspicious.

“The only thing I’m reading is your body language.” He nodded in the direction of her hands. “You wring the grip when you’re nervous.”

Taigen examined one of her hands, turning it over as if it was a foreign instrument. He could feel the loathing leak through the seams in her white carapace.

“Years of training and I still can’t control it,” she laughed ruefully. “And keeping my feelings buried has worked so far. That and I have you to vent to.” Sibilen could practically see the empty smile she probably had plastered on her face. He wasn’t fooled though.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

He waited until she blew a breath out through her nose before smirking in victory.

“I thought we had figured things out on leave, you know? Nothing beyond the usual and then this,” she fumed. “Acting like a schutta with genitals for brains like I was another one of his male buddies.”

“I assume you’re talking about…”

“Please don’t say his name. But yes.”

He considered her words. He didn’t claim to be an expert on relationships, or anything beyond the business of war, but he knew enough to understand she wasn’t asking for validation or coddling. Only the truth.

“I think that he’s not in a place where he knows what to do, so he falls back onto what he does best,” Sibilen answered.

“Act like a total di’kut all the time?”

“Now, now,” he snickered, “that’s the kind of wisecracking that got you into this situation.”

“One of these days I’m going to follow through on my threats. He better watch his shebs.” He could hear the smile in her voice, bereft of its earlier gloom.

“That’ll be the day,” Sibilen replied.

“Now quit reading me and enjoy the ride. We wouldn’t your aim to be off because you’re worrying about things you can’t control,” she said, nudging the E-web with her knee.

“Don’t worry,” he responded. “Your mind is safe with me.”

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“Are we flying through a minefield or atmosphere,” Devawn grumbled. The ride down had been straight out of a nightmare, the gunship bucking wildly and trying to throw them around inside the compartment. He switched to an open channel.

“Start placing your bets boys, do we wreck before hitting dirt or not? 5 credits say we end up as a fireball before setting down.” His offer was taken up by several other troopers, all complaining about the rough ride.

“What kind of odds are you giving for someone being violently ill on the way down,” the speaker asked, sounding ill himself through the vocalizer. A few hearty chuckles accompanied the back-slapping that passed for moral support amongst the armed forces.

“By the sounds of it, I would say the odds are pretty good,” he smiled. “We’ll say two to one if you want to buy in.”

“Oh wonderful, put me down fo-” The troopers request was interrupted by a retching noise. Cries of disgust followed a trooper as he bent over to empty his stomach on the deck. Devawn winced, imaging the smell that would soon be another occupant.

“Flyboys! Yoo-hoo, you guys still up there?” He pressed on, not waiting for an answer. “Take us in easy, we need to arrive in one piece or it’s your skins on the line.”

“So sorry for the inconvenience,” one of the pilots responded, “but while you groundpounders are enjoying a relaxing ride back there, we’re dodging Golan I’s. If you would like, I can let you off here and you can hitch a ride down on some armor-plating that just floated past.” The link double-clicked at him before the channel shut down, closing off audible communication to the cockpit.

“What do you say Taigen,” he snickered, opening a private channel, “How about the surf of a lifetime? Just you, me, and 20 feet of three-inch armor plating beneath our feet?”

“Hm. Let me think about it.” She paused for half a second. “I’m going to pass; I don’t like dead weight on the board with me. But if you like, I can record you pulling off the stunt of the stormtrooper corp. When atmospheric entry fries you to a crisp, I can show your mother proof that her baby was born with only two brain cells.” She took on a hopeful tone. “Maybe they’ll even show it at your funeral! I can see it now, ‘Died doing what he did best; failing to impress a woman’.”

“What you fail to account for is my high success rate with those of the female persuasion,” he said, shutting down the link and opening a new one. “Women, am I right?”

“As your commander, I would remind you that that ‘woman’ could do unspeakable things to your equipment or just break your arm in five different ways.” Devawn waited for his sergeant to continue. “As your classmate, I would tell you to be cautious and try not being an insensitive di’kut ALL of the time.”

“And what would you say as a friend?” Devawn asked. He heard a humorous sigh through his speakers.

“I would say you royally screwed up on leave.”

“Yeah, I probably did, Sarge.”

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“Alright, dirtwalkers, we’re approaching the LZ. Hop off right quick so we can grab more of your buddies,” the pilot from earlier said, breaking their self-imposed radio silence. The bay doors slid back, revealing a war-torn city. As they flew overhead Sergeant Resd could see buildings wreathed in destruction and rubble strewn across the thoroughfares. Wrecked machines littered the landscape.

“Where exactly is ‘here’ pilot? I’m not receiving any telemetry from orbital satellites,” he said, pulling up a tactical map of Arriez 3’s capital city. He highlighted major landmarks with a few blinks, sending the updates to his squad.

“A private landing pad about 2 kilometers south of the spaceport, near the industrial sector. I’m beaming the coordinates to your helmet. It’s the best spot we could find in all this mess. Touching down now.” As the pilot had been speaking, the gunship had circled a courtyard raised up from the surrounding area. Garden plots were arranged concentrically around a large residence, with lawn spreading farther out in each direction. They were descending toward a landing pad connected to the residence.

The gunship set down and all of them spilled out onto the pad, instinctively taking up defensive positions. With a flick of his hand, Blackstar formed up on Resd. Hot air from the repulsors washed over them as their transport lifted off to make room for its counterpart. One eye remained on his motion tracker as he surveyed the landing site. No movement from the house or the clearing. Out of the second gunship came additional squads of soldiers and a portable transmitter that a crew of engineers immediately began to set up. Behind them was the lieutenant that they would be reporting to for the time being.

The lieutenant began to bark orders, making his way into the house. The rest of the landing force began to fan out across the property and into the house, returning calls of all-clear. The transmitter hummed to life while the engineers input data to communicate with _The Convictor_.

With the surrounding area clear, Resd lowered his weapon but remained no less vigilant. The rest of his team followed suit, Taigen relaxing minutely while Sibilen set down the E-web and Devawn replaced his sniper blaster with something more suited to close range. The lieutenant exited the house, still yelling orders as he approached their group.

“And make sure to request a more powerful scanner, the bigger the better.” He turned to them. “I’m sure you have your orders, so I’ll keep this brief. You see anything of interest, mark it on the map but keep up your patrols. You guys are more useful as my eyes and ears in the field than scavengers.”

“Anything specific we should be on the lookout for, sir?” Resd asked the lieutenant. The officer eyed him from underneath his open helmet.

“I’m sure you know more than me sergeant. I don’t have the resources you commandos do, so maybe you’ll know what you want to look for,” the man replied icily.

“Sir, yes sir.” Resd heard the sarcastic remark muttered in his ear. When the lieutenant rounded on him, the sergeant realized that had been said outside the squad’s personal channel. The gap between the two of them closed to several centimeters. The two officers, one commissioned, one non-commissioned were eye-to-eye as they stared each other down. The remaining commandos fanned out behind their leader, their weapons pointed at the ground for now.

“I don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with your problems, so let’s clear the air. I do not like you being here one bit. I don’t like you being on my ship. I don’t even like you being under my command. On paper you may report to me, but we both know how much that will mean if someone with more authority needs you to run off on a personal errand.” The lieutenant folded his arms, glowering at Resd’s visor but not piercing through it. “I will use you as little as possible until our missions are complete, but no more.” He took a moment to look at the four of them before striding away in a flurry of barks.

Resd let out a deep sigh. He glanced over Devawn, who didn’t even have the gall to look sheepish. The squad leader motioned with his hands for the others to fall in as he made his way towards the surrounding city ruins.

“That was certainly tense,” said Taigen. She fell into his right, fiddling with her wrist comm. Sibilen took the left and Devawn brought up the rear, forming a diamond of hardened military training.

“The guy had such a stick up his shebs. I mean, come on. We all fight for the same cause, no need to hate on our illustrious sergeant because we were forced to hitch a ride with the normies,” Devawn replied, drifting back from the main group.

“Not that your smart mouth made relations any better,” said the heavy blaster toting Sibilen. His E-web swung back and forth as they approached the edges of the expansive property, tracking the path in front of them.

“What’s said is said, nothing to do. But the next time someone steps out of line, you’ll be answering to me.” Resd looked pointedly at their sniper who had no comment this time.

“What’s going on Sarge? That was more than just irritation over some uppity commandos,” grilled Taigen.

“Some people’s toes were stepped on to get us positioned on the ship,” the sergeant answered, stepping into the shadow of a building’s skeletal remains. They had entered the city proper now. The commandos tensed up, acknowledging that they had now entered what was effectively hostile territory.

“Yes, I’m sure that is all you know,” Taigen said. Resd didn’t respond, instead focusing on the flashing indicator on his mini-map. He could see several locations painted for reconnaissance, along with notes from orbit. The closest was a few hundred meters from the spaceport.

“We have locations of interest. First one is two klicks ahead of our position.” He checked the energy levels on his blaster and clicked off the safety. “Standard formation. If we come across any sentients, I want a visual confirmation of threat before opening fire.” Resd received a chorus of affirmatives, their formation widening.

“Permission to use jump packs for rooftop traversal, sir?” asked the sniper, his barely restrained hopefulness bleeding through the comms.

“Negative Devawn. No practical use for it now and I don’t know when we’ll have access to more,” he replied. “Unless you would like to ask the lieutenant yourself.”

“No thanks, Sarge.”

Resd chuckled, training his attention on the city. The thoroughfare they were traversing was cluttered with wrecked speeders and other repulsorlift vehicles. Most of them were civilian craft, torn apart, their frames blackened by heat. Only a few of them were empty.

They encountered the first trooper bodies at what he assumed was a conference center of sorts. The marquee out front was missing half of its letters but the dozens of chairs stacked in front of bay windows and long tables stretching across other entrances assisted with recognition. The building had become a battleground at some point. Strewn across the street were mangled bodies, some of them only recognizable as pools of blood under mashed body parts. Here and there the white plasteel of stormtroopers peaked out from the landscape of carnage and destruction. A few wrecked speeders and a hovertank were smashed into the sides of the building.

“Devawn, cover us while we check bodies and investigate the conference center,” he instructed the squad, stooping down to check the ID tags of a fallen stormtrooper. He scanned it, watching the trooper’s information scrawl across his visor. The other three began to search the corpses while he moved away from the soldier and towards the building.

The main entrance had been obliterated. The invading forces had smashed through the makeshift barricade, leaving behind a hole that could have fit an AT-ST’s chassis easily. The interior was a horror show of gore and limbs, splattered across every surface. White jagged, armor pieces littered the floor like shards of pottery, human forms cut into pieces, blood everywhere. He was no stranger to war, but he struggled to hold back the bile rising in his throat. He stumbled outside, tearing off his helmet in defiance of all the training he had ever received, ash-tinged air tugging at his face. He gulped at it, forcing the vomit down. Around him, his squad rushed over, attempting to yell over the buzz in his ears. Sibilen rushed past him and threw himself against the wall, peering around the corner of the main entrance. The whine of his E-web cut through Resd’s muffled hearing as the heavy weapon’s man thundered into the building alone.

The squad leader shook his head, sliding the helmet back on with a hermetic hiss. His helmet flashed to life as it connected, returning him to a familiar world. His comms hissed to life in the middle of a four-way conversation.

“None of us are in danger Blackstar, just a-” Resd swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, “Just a gruesome scene. Snap some holopics and form up. We’re moving out.” The sergeant stood on shaky feet, calming his nerves with the intimate feel of recycled air. He looked over to see Sibilen walking back out without a word. Taigen stooped down, examining an object on the ground.

“Got something here sergeant. Doesn’t match any known weaponry.” Her demeanor was tinged with curiosity now, intent upon a scientific scent.

“Stow it away, we’ll hand it over to the geeks when they arrive,” he said. She shoved the object into a pouch and the squad began to move down the boulevard.

Their pace became more and more bogged down the further that Blackstar Squad traveled away from the landing site. The mission demanded speed, but intelligence was vital to a fact-finding mission. Internal databanks became filled with holopics and videos of whatever they deemed worthy of being recorded for future study. Bits of debris, odd scorch marks, enormous shell-casings, it was all recorded in detail for later. Besides the scientific documentation, stills of the carnage were taken for command.

Military casualties mounted with each street they traversed. Demolished roadblocks obstructed side roads and even the thoroughfare they were on. All of them shattered, all of them heralded by more fallen troopers and a plethora of demolished imperial machinery.

Civilian casualties were atrocious beyond what any of them had seen before. Human and alien alike had been cut down wherever they had been found. In roadways, inside buildings, upon every street corner. No quarter had been given, it seemed. They didn’t have the time to explore every interior, but the mortality rate so far gave each of them little hope of finding survivors within city limits.

“One klick out from our first target,” Resd announced. The decimation of the city was laid out for all to witness, and they had front row seats as they continued with their mission.

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Eris whistled between her teeth as she stared out the window. She gazed listlessly at the vast expanse of stars beyond the transparisteel without seeing them. Rather, her hazel eyes were watching her reflection as the starfield remained absolutely still, allowing for no sense of movement or the passage of time.

In an attempt to calm her frustrations, she picked up a pencil and went back to sketching in her journal, one of the few things that had not been confiscated when she had been brought aboard the ship. Dexterous fingers slipped a few wayward strands of auburn hair behind her ear.

Her mother had gifted her with an old-fashioned paper notebook and graphite utensils for her university graduation, and Eris had immediately fallen in love. Since receiving it, the pages had slowly filled with the smudged stencils of mechanical workings. She wasn’t skilled enough to come up with ideas of her own, but she had no problem looking at a piece of machinery and recreating how it fit together with a stylus.

Thinking of her mother lifted the frustration but replaced it with yawning loneliness. She didn’t even have time to say goodbye when soldiers had shown up at her parents’ home. She had been celebrating with friends, commemorating the end of years of torturous learning, when she had been escorted away on this secret mission. Something that sounded like it was out of a holodrama had left her with only a few minutes to pack the essentials. A few changes of clothes, toiletries, and her sketchbook was all she was allowed to bring. Before leaving the premise, they had even frisked her down and taken her comlink. Now she had no way to contact the outside world.

And here she was, stashed in a secluded section of a starship by the military, bound for who knew where. At the very least, her stay had not been unpleasant. The soldiers had brought her meals that, while bland, left her full and satisfied. Her cabin was modestly furnished with a comfortable bed, a full ‘fresher, and a desk. The people that brought her meals were even willing to talk, so long as she didn’t ask questions or try to pry information out of them. They took requests when she needed additional hygienic items and were polite, if a bit vague. Eris only wished that they would answer her questions. Each time she pressed them for information, they would clam up and say something about top-secret, before leaving her alone in the cabin.

The 23-year-old human let her head fall onto the page in defeat when her usual inspiration refused to flow through her pencil. She wished she had paid attention when her father had tried to teach her how to slice locks, instead of working through the latest starship design homework.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of reinforced bolts sliding back and the hum of the restraint field on her door deactivating. She stood up, keeping her chair between her and the door as it opened to reveal a pair of familiar looking soldiers. Their eyes swiftly examined the room, resting on her. The one in the back, a blue-skinned Chiss, glanced at her open notebook, raising a thin eyebrow over his red eye. She ignored the silent question, waiting for her guards to make the first move.

“Ma’am, if you would please come with us,” the human in front said. Neither of them held blasters, but she could see vibro-knives at their waists. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t give them a reason to use the weapons.

“Where exactly are you taking me? I want some answers.” Eris fiddled with the pencil she had held onto, attempting to project a veneer of calm.

“Ma’am, I’m sure you have questions, but we have orders to take you to the command deck. I would prefer we didn’t have to use any extreme means, but our orders are to bring you no matter what.” His tone grew firm when the ultimatum was given, but he gave her a pleading look. She fidgeted even more, contemplating if she should press for more answers.

“Just grab her, will you? We don’t have time to bicker with all the passengers,” muttered the Chiss. He looked down the hall, making no attempt to hide his disdain from the both of them. “If the Grand Admiral were here, none of this would be necessary.”

The human ignored his compatriot and motioned for Eris to follow him. She hesitated before stepping forward.

She exited the room that had been her cell for the entire trip and walked behind the soldier as he led her away Out of the corner of her vision, she could see the Chiss taking up position behind her. She swallowed, focusing on the broad shoulders of her guide as they passed by more doors. The cramped hallway their procession passed through remained cramped until they arrived at the turbolift.

The hallway opened up into a foyer with three separate turbolifts stationed next to each other. People came and went from the lifts and converging passages to either side. All of them wore uniforms of one design or another, some she recognized as engineers from her internships at her home world’s shipyards and some because blaster rifle patches on the uniforms could only mean a few designations. A good portion of the crowd remained a mystery.

Surrounding the turbolifts was a crowd that pressed together, awaiting a space on the next ride. She received a few sideways looks from the crewmen in the crowd, glancing at her civilian clothing in mild curiosity. Her pale, dainty arms wrapped the open jacket around her, compacting her body as much as possible. Eris followed in the wake of her human guide as he weaved his way to the front of the crowd. She couldn’t tell if her other guard was still behind her, but the hairs on her neck prickled slightly at the thought of the patronizing, red-eyed stare.

A hiss came from beyond the wall of military-grade fabric in front of her as her guide reached around to push her body to the front.

“This way, ma’am. Stay close to me so we don’t lose you,” he said in her ear. With strong hands gripping her shoulders, he steered Eris through a group exiting the lift and into the metal box. He slapped a control panel built into the wall, a light at the top of the list lighting up. Crewmen filed in behind them, some tweaking the controls, other greeting their mates with forced enthusiasm. Then, the doors slid shut and the lift began to ascend with a jolt.

Theirs was the first stop, coming. Her guide announced they were leaving, pushing themselves through the lift’s occupants who parted only slightly in the tight confines. They exited out onto what she could only assume was the ship’s bridge.

Crewmen chatted and shouted across the room, attending to stations and calling out numbers and names that meant nothing to someone like her. Beyond the human traffic, a curved transparisteel window showed an amazing view of the planet. It’s green and blues were tinted orange by some source, giving them an off-putting aura.

She was firmly steered towards a group of crewmen who sat around a table. All but one of the half-dozen people wore some sort of clothing that was out of place amidst the sea of military dress she had seen so far. They all sat quietly, a few of talking in tones she couldn’t hear, even when they approached.

“Ma’am, wait here please, the captain will be with you when it’s convenient,” he commanded, finally letting go of her. His hands, which had started to become a reassuring warmth in the middle of this confusion, lifted. One of the group, a Chiss male with close-cropped hair who looked little older than her, stood up from his seat, gesturing for her to sit.

Eris mumbled her thanks, taking the spot proffered for her. She watched her guide stride towards the center of the room, coming up beside a man who seemed to stand inside a bubble of calm. While the sailors rushed about, he stood like a rock in a storm, bedecked in an immaculate uniform different than what she had seen so far. The man looked up at the approach of her guide, nodding his head and looking at their group. Her eyes and the mans locked, before she broke the connection, turning down to the table.

She began whistling through her teeth again, kicking herself mentally for being so demure. As far as she knew, she had nothing to fear from him. Yet she still broke eye contact.

“Captain,” a thick accent distorted the speaker’s voice. She looked up to see the Chiss who had given up his seat saluting the man. He stood close, within arm’s reach. A human across from her, wearing a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses fumbled to his feet. The man waved him down when he tried to salute.

“All of you are civilians, there’s no need for formalities except for the respect between civilized beings,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. He eyed the Chiss who still stood at attention. “I will not repeat myself.”

“As an ex-specialist, I reserve the right to salute one with such high military honors as you, Captain Heslar,” the Chiss said, his reverent tone only matched by the stiffness of his posture. The captain snorted, saluting with the Chiss with an air of reluctance.

“Now put down your hand. I need to speak, and I hope you are listening.” He straightened, staring slightly off focus as if reciting a prepared statement. “By the authority of Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo and subsection three point four of the Military Seizure Act, I have conscripted you into the military of the Empire of the Hand following a possible act of military aggression that warrants resources that are not currently present in my command. As such, until you are given leave from this conscription, you shall be under military censorship and communications blackout to non-military persons, punishable by execution.”

Eris lost her focus, letting the captain’s words roll over her. Her head felt fuzzy as she wondered if this was really happening. Had she just been press-ganged into service? The captain continued with his monologue.

“Whatever research you conduct while under conscription will be prone to search and seizure if necessary. Any thoughts or ideas that pertain to your time while under conscription will not be committed to speech or written word for those without the proper clearances, punishable by execution.”

Her rights and even thoughts were being threatened by men with weapons that had every right to kill her if she stepped out of line. Was he still going on?

“While under conscription, you will adhere to military protocol and will be considered members of the military of the Empire of the Hand, beholden to the regulations and punishments of an enlisted soldier. Anything you witness and are present for during your conscription, by any means of communication, are considered code-word classified. Any breach of these conventions is punishable by execution.” The captain let out a relieved sigh.

She sat there, mouth open, stomach threatening to leap out of it. The anxiousness of the past few days were now eclipsed by fear. She was out of her depth and drowning under the implications of what the military officer has just droned out.

Commotion erupted in their corner on the bridge.

“You- you can’t do this,” a portly gentleman sputtered. “We are citizens of Medest and I will not stand for this sort of treatment or subterfuge. I demand that you return us to the planet at once!”

The captain regarded the quivering academic with a cool gaze. The man’s irritated shaking was soon accompanied by fidgeting and a sheen of sweat on his forehead, growing more obvious under the unblinking gaze of the ship’s senior officer.

“And you would also demand that you be compensated for the time that we have taken away from your, no doubt, myriad meals,” he replied evenly. The overweight man nodded timidly in the face of the captain’s commanding presence. “And perhaps, to ease your pain and suffering, my men could carry you back to your home. We would then apologize and cook you a full, 7-course meal, pulled from the ships own stock.”

“Now see here good man, I know when I am being mocked, and I would ask you to please stop.”

“No, Professor, you do not see. Unlike the rest of your soon-to-be colleagues, they have not tried to make ridiculous demands of me.” Hints of anger peeked through the calm veneer. “I have treated you all as best as I am able with the orders I have been given. If I were less interested in your well-being, I would have put you all in my ship’s prison until our arrival, rather than straining my men’s bunking arrangements by making sure you were all sequestered in proper rooms. Don’t think that my authority doesn’t reach that far, because it most certainly does.”

Eris stared in shock at the captain. She tried to shrink in on herself; to distance herself from the ire that had been roused out of the military man.

“Do not think yourself so high and mighty that I will not use any means to get you to cooperate. I want you here as little as you want to be here, but in the meantime you need to understand that I have the weight of military authority and the law on my side.” The captain looked directly at the overweight objector. “Or were you unaware of the specifics behind the alliance between your planet and The Empire of the Hand?”

The man’s face turned red, his body sinking down in the seat like a mound of melting blubber. With their vocal dissenter sufficiently cowed, she tried to sneak a peek at the others without giving away her interest. The ones sitting down looked positively frightened at the power wielded over their lives. Even the Chiss gentleman looked disturbed at the captain’s words. A slight cough came from beneath the glasses across the table.

“You have made our situation very clear, captain. Might I ask what you have… conscripted us for?” He adjusted the spectacles, propping them farther up on his nose.

“As of right now, the full story is classified. What I am able to share is that you will be studying and evaluating pieces of technology or biological samples that we might recover from our search and rescue parties. Anything beyond that is on a strict, need-to-know basis.” Eris sensed that the ship captain was fielding questions now. The urge to unload a million queries onto the man was so great that her mouth was open before she could think about it.

“Does my mom know I’m ok?”

Surprise flickered across the captain’s face. He stroked his goatee in concentration, running his hands through the sandy bristles on his chin.

“Ms. Tirza, is it? The starship engineer,” he asked. She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I do believe your caretakers were informed of your safe departure.” She sighed, feeling an immense pressure lift from her heart. Her ears tuned out the other questions being asked, relieved that her parents wouldn’t be fretting about her possible demise. She returned to the world outside her thoughts just as the Captain gave another exasperated reply.

“That is also classified. I know you all have many more questions,” he said, speaking over the mounting inquiries, silencing the civilians, “But many of them cannot be answered, and you are needed down in the hangar. I brought you along for a reason, and you will discover that reason imminently.” The captain beckoned over the Chiss soldier that had brought her up here. “Ensign, please escort Research Team 1 down to the hangar. Explain the protocol for the remainder of their time on my vessel as well. Dismissed.”

The captain returned to his original position as their group made its way to the turbolift that brought them here. She watched her human guide take up position next to the captain, watching them as the doors slid shut.

Lev watched the young woman and the rest of the civilians disappear behind the turbolift doors. He pursed his lips, not envying his Chiss counterpart as he babysat the crew’s newest additions.

“Permission to speak, sir?” Lev asked, noting the time it would take for the gunships to return with their prize.

“Is it about your new tenants, MP?” the captain grunted, not taking his eyes off the monitor.

“Yes, sir.”

“Permission reluctantly granted.”

“Why them sir?”

“Because they were the only options for the time frame we were given. They aren’t soldiers, but they know a hell of a lot more than the engineers and medics on this ship.”

“The Naval Academy was only a system away from our posting, we couldn’t make that one stop for proper soldiers, sir?”

Captain Heslar looked over at Lev, bringing his voice to a hush and glancing around furtively, to see if anyone was listening. It worried him that the master of the vessel was worried about who heard him on his own ship.

“Orders were to make all haste to Arriez 3, without delay. Even the 10 hours it would take to get to the Academy was considered to long for the Shadow.”

“So now military intelligence is handing out orders directly, sir.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“With that, I take my leave, sir. I have to make sure the holding cells are hospitable for the civilians by the time they finish up.”

The captain acknowledged him with a nod, watching the command projector as his gunships hauled 60 meters of alien vessel towards their warship for study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be for the 40k people. It wouldn't be a crossover if both weren't involved, now would it.


	4. The Emperor's Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Imperium of Man has been on the brink of destruction for over 10,000 years and now they move to eliminate one of the single biggest threats, compounded by the decisions of one Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and we will be caught up between the websites. Things also are beginning to heat up.

**Tides of Existence**

**Chapter 3**

**The Emperor's Will**

**ABOVE DESIDIA PRIME, DESIDIA SYSTEM**

At last they were readied.

Above the forge world, an armada gathered in preparation. The Imperium of Man stood on the edge of a precipice, pushed to the brink by ten thousand years of endless war. Now, he commanded a fleet of unmeasurable scale, rivaled only by the Imperium at the height of its power in ages past. Everything from ancient, lumbering battleships to nimble frigates sat in orbit between the massive shipyards, awaiting his orders. A billion souls waited in anticipation, ready to go forth and save their Imperium from a threat that would push them over the edge, and into oblivion.

Since its founding in the 30th millennium, The Imperium of Man had stood as mighty fortress that called almost all of the galaxy its own. Amidst the terror of the cosmos, ancient gods, hostile aliens and nightmares from the dark of space, it had risen up to claim dominance for the human race. For more than a hundred centuries, men like him had to fought across millions of battlefields to ensure that the dream of peace for every, woman and child could be realized, laying down their lives so that some might not know the ravages of war.

But even though billions of soldiers were sacrificed each day, the endless conflict still ground on. No enemy embodied this eternal carnage more than the Orks. Since the earliest surviving records, the Orks had been recorded as problematic, to say the least. They were a hardy race of green-skinned xenos who's only biological function seemed to be everlasting slaughter. Whether it was with themselves or any species alive, the Orks sought to fight for the sake of battle. The average specimen was often as large as a space marine, and just as lethal, gifted with immense strength and impossible fortitude. Not only were they capable brutes individually, but they were more numerous than the stars in the sky, overwhelming their foes by sheer numbers alone.

In recent decades, a new threat had revealed itself to match that of the Orks, one that had come from the darkness beyond the stars. It carried itself inside the bellies of titanic biological spacefaring vessels, drifting along solar currents in pursuit of its own goal: to satiate its endless hunger. The central intelligence sent out tendrils from planet to planet, devouring every molecule of biological material before leaving behind an empty husk of a world. When all life was consumed, the hive fleet would move on, creating a wake of dead space in its path. The hive mind was named after the first world it consumed on the edges of Imperium space, becoming known as the Tyranids.

Now, a feast of carnage raged in the Octarius Sector, xenos against xenos, in a bitter struggle for dominance. The resident Ork empire and the bulk of Hive Fleet Leviathan had been embroiled in conflict for years now, and he sought to annihilate them both with one single strike. When Inquisitor Kryptman had lured the hive fleet into the Ork-infested realm, he had saved untold scores of worlds from the ravages of xenos invasion; but it was a temporary solution at best, a respite that was becoming more and more untenable every day. According to all the reports, the Tyranid menace was winning, and as soon as they consumed the Orks, they would move on. Now was the time to strike, while their foe was fighting on one front already.

The Emperor's Shield, the Imperium of Man's fleets, would wrest control of the Octarius Sector from the xenos and crush their foes. A specialist interrupted his brooding to alert him of the arrival of the final space marine chapter ship, passed through the vox's communication technology. He made no motion that he had heard the announcement, instead continuing to assess his strength against reports of the known xenos at the end of their journey.

"Alert the Navigators and ready all ships. Anyone and anything not loaded will be left behind. Ready the plasma drives and make way to the system's edge," he said at last. In the pits surrounding his command position, technicians and vox-casters began broadcasting orders to the vast flotilla around them. Behind the flurry of activity, he continued to think and plan.

"Send a request for the Chapter Master to join me in the war room." The upcoming campaign would need every bit of forethought they could muster. "And then open up a channel to the rest of the fleet."

"My Lord, the Chapter Master requests that he be permitted to bring subordinates." His personal aide's voice buzzed through the vox machine permanently attached to its body. He considered the request briefly.

"The more the merrier. We shall require all the minds that we have at our disposal before this is over." The aide bowed slightly, followed by the hollow hum of the vox implants at work.

"The audio receptors of the fleet are listening my Lord." The Admiral nodded, motioning the living communicator closer as he looked through the glass separating him from the void.

"Soldiers of The Emperor, children of the Omnissiah, we go forth to bring the holy light of Terra into the darkest pits of the galaxy. On the other side of our destination lies a host of xenos scum that we must purge with fire. With the strength of our fleets, we shall drive through their scrap husks and living vessels. With the pounding of our boots, we will sound their oncoming doom. Our lazguns will burn Tyranid and Ork alike, and our bolters will erase the memory of all they do. We shall crush all those who oppose us and when the last foe is slain, we will return to our homes. Let the weight of our faith lead us to victory! The Emperor protects!"

"The Emperor protects!" Around him, and no doubt throughout every vessel in the Imperium, voices echoed the prayer of mankind. For some, it was the only barrier between fear and bravery. For others, it would be one of the very few things carried into battle against man's enemies. He only hoped it would be enough this time.

Underneath his feet the deck began to vibrate as the great plasma drives propelled his ship, his fleet, towards the systems edge. There was no turning back now. Lord High Admiral Toleptus Amios would lead them back to their continuous war and he would strive towards victory… or death.

"My lord, representatives from the Void Renders Space Marine chapter and Mechanicus fleets await you in the war room," his aide intoned. "Inquisitor Malvol will also be attending."

"Will he now?" Toleptus raised an eyebrow at the unexpected announcement. "And what has given the Inquisitor the power to give orders aboard my vessel?" So far, the Inquisition had had little to say about their current mission, besides committing its own ships and men to their crusade. Nevertheless, it was no surprise that their interest and meddling was not blunted by this stain upon their organization.

"None was given, but the Chapter Master spoke in favor of him," his aide droned.

"If he is the subordinate the Chapter Master spoke of, let us not keep our colleagues waiting. We have much to discuss before we reach Octarius." He turned from the viewport and began making his way towards the war-room. His aide followed silently behind him, floating along on anti-gravity machines that were hidden by robes and scribe tools.

They passed rows of mindless servitors toiling away at their stations and cognizant bridge crewmen who coordinated the travel of hundreds of vessels through the Warp. The entourage of two glided past signs of obeisance and respect without acknowledging them, intent upon their destination and the politics that would no doubt abound. The period leading up to battle always irked him the greatest, navigating the web way of intrigue and maneuvering that plagued the meeting of disparate factions. Even if he technically had command over all the forces within the armada, he had no desire to test that control.

The war room doors opened at his passage, sealing behind him with a clang. His aide took up a position along the wall as the Admiral examined the room's occupants. Three main figures stood at intervals around the chamber's central holoprojector. The commanding Tech-priest, a magos, of the Mechanicus fleets talked animatedly with the space marine Chapter Master, as they both gestured at the projection, while the inquisitorial intruder stood opposite the two. Behind the three, a gaggle of space marines, Tech-priests and attendants waited upon their own faction, casting suspicious gazes upon the others in attendance. The Chapter Master was the first to notice his entrance, making a sign of respect but waiting for the human to start their meeting. The whispering in the background became silent, the magos nodding its head in respect. The inquisitor made no move, staring down at the controls in front of him with growing discomfort.

Toleptus approached the congregation, ascending to his command throne in the ensuing silence. He took a moment to study the projection, noting the scenario being played out in sepia.

"Welcome, honored guests, aboard my humble vessel. We meet now to discuss our battle plan when we reach the Octarius Sector. May I?" The Admiral's hand hovered over the controls to change the projection. The magos nodded his head in confirmation, pulling away a mechanical arm that had been plugged into the projectors base. With that, Toleptus adjusted the hologram's image, bringing up a representation of their target and its surroundings systems.

"Our mission is to purge the Octarius sector of all threats, Ork, Tyranid, or otherwise." The multitude of ghostly planets began to glow with a myriad of colors, each one representing a different enemy. The orange of Orks showed the majority of the planets in the system were held by the greenskins, with creeping green signifying where the Tyranids had made landfall. A smattering of Imperial blue dots somehow still remained in all the mess.

"As most of you are no doubt aware, the Octarius Sector is overrun by xenos, particularly Orks and Tyranids. Our crusade is meant to destroy all threats within the affected area before any side is victorious," he said, watching the reaction of the Inquisitor Malvol out of the corner of his eye. The inquisitor continued to stare down.

"I fail to see how this is a matter for the Mechanicum." The magos' voice buzzed from underneath his hood. A cloud of servo-skulls floated around the Tech-priest, zipping back and forth to study those in attendance. "Our resources could be better spent on any number of other ventures. Allow the Inquisition to rectify its own problems and shortcomings." The barb drew no other response than a slight frown from the black-robed human.

"Peace, comrade," Chapter Master Serenoto Scargitor said. "You are not the only ones to wonder about the summons. But the Void Renders know that we have been brought here for a reason." He cast a trans-human eye towards the command throne.

"I have summoned your various fleets because I have need of all the power that may be commanded. The vessels of the Imperial Navy are too few to accomplish all that we would hope for, whether it be protecting our supply lines or destroying our enemies," Toleptus answered the senior Tech-priest, whose extra limbs circled closer to his robes.

"I do not question the need, only the reasoning and authority. My expertise would be better spent in a laboratory." The magos' retinue shifted behind their leader, canting among themselves in the language of the Tech-priests.

"You are of the biological expertise, are you not, Magos? You would be instrumental in our understanding of the new lifeforms present in the sector. Dark rumors have surfaced about Tyranid specimens taking on the visage of Orks, and even space marines."

"Rumors that have yet to be proven true, Lord High Admiral," interrupted the Chapter Master. "You should know that trusting to the whispers of the masses is a dangerous road."

"I do not place overmuch trust in what is said amongst my sailors. But these are official reports from scouts still in-system, and not wholly based on conjecture. I understand your desire to quell virulent rumors surrounding your brethren, Chapter Master, but if the Tyranids have obtained the genetic material of fallen space marines, then it is of utmost importance that we answer such speculations with evidence to the contrary."

"Then our true missive is one of capture and study, rather than open warfare," the magos asked, scorn tinging his vocalizer.

"No. Elimination of a threat is our primary goal, but we have secondary missions to accomplish if possible," answered Toleptus.

"Made even more difficult by the Inquisition's inability to properly handle the threat," the machine-embedded figure said.

"I would ask that you please not associate ex-Inquisitor Kryptman's methods with those of the whole Inquisition."

All heads in the room turned towards the speaker, as a servo-skull passed through the hololith to focus on Inquisitor Malvol. The words were polite, but a self-righteous fire burned in his one remaining organic eye, his back as straight as a battleship's spine. The young Inquisitor stared at the magos, waiting for an apology. Toleptus doubted that the boy had ever dealt with the stubborn, narrow-minded Tech-priests of Mars if he believed such a thing was forthcoming.

"Regardless of the actions of the past, we must discuss what will happen when we arrive at our destination," the Admiral said, attempting to break the stalemate between the two. The contest of wills continued for another moment before their gaze returned to the projection. "This will not be a ground war. The conflict will be relegated to void battles and boarding actions. If the opportunity presents itself, then we shall send down units to capture specimens for study."

"If we are not prepared for a ground war, then how do you plan on recapturing the planets," asked the inquisitor. "Unless you plan on landing your ships and having the crew fight the xenos?"

"We will not be capturing the planets."

Toleptus washed away the system in a wave of static, replacing it with a missive directly from Terra. The original scroll was still in his quarters, under lock and key where no unauthorized entity could gain access to it.

"This is signed by the High Lords themselves!" exclaimed Malvol after briefly studying it.

"By the throneworld..." breathed the space marine. The magos began to read it out loud, mumbling through lines as he sped toward the missives main message.

"By the authority vested within the 12 High Lords of Terra… on this the 13th day… divest the power of the title of Warmaster… for a campaign within the Octarius Sector… free use of military authority… Exterminatus." The Tech-priest swiveled towards the command throne.

"The cost of retaking all the worlds plagued by Ork spores and Tyranid bio-forms is too great. Since we cannot retake the planets, we shall cleanse them in fire or destroy them utterly." The inquisitor looked up; horror etched into his features at the admission.

"But Exterminatus on such a scale? You speak of dozens of worlds, some of them still inhabited by Imperial citizens," the young man argued back, bionic eye shining with light.

"You speak as though there are not those in your order who have undertaken a similar extermination," countered the Magos, the multitude of eyes gleaming in the shadow of its hood. Malvol's face turned crimson, a grimace twisting his features.

"Desperate times require desperate measures," Serenoto stated. "And with the state of the Imperium, the times are truly desperate. The Void Renders stand ready for battle, High Admiral."

"The Mechanicum is at maximum compliance with your orders, High Admiral," the Magos seconded.

"I am to inform you that The Emperor's Most Holy Inquisition will aid with this endeavor," Malvol informed.

Toleptus nodded in approval at their promises of fealty. He silently thanked The Emperor for this first victory, praying for more like it in the campaign. With their cooperation to the crusade confirmed, they could begin speaking about matters of true importance.

"Our only hope in this endeavor is to strike swiftly and with our full might." Again, Toleptus adjusted the hologram, projecting a rudimentary visual of their fleet. The grainy triangles appeared out of thin air and began to move in-system.

"I have spoken with the Navigator houses of my fleet and tasked them with arriving as close to the farthest planet as they are able. When we emerge from the Warp, we will make all speed towards the bulk of the Tyranid Hive Fleet. The Void Renders will go ahead, using their barges as a bulwark against bio-torpedoes and enemy craft. The Mechanicum vessels will harass the Tyranid fleets and keep track of possible ships to capture. The remaining fleet elements will rally behind _Sovereign Retribution_ and act as our power-hammer." The ghostly shapes streamed through the empty space above the deck, dancing to the Admiral's tune. "From behind cover of the Astartes, we shall rain fire on the xenos scum."

"And what of the greenskins," asked the Inquisitor. "You appear little concerned with their scrap ships."

"The Ork ships still intact are far and few between. My scouts report that our prime enemy is the Tyranid menace," the Admiral countered.

"My chapter's battle barges will bear a heavy toll of life with this maneuver," the Chapter Master said. His trans-human eyes tracked the lights on repeat, rushing to the front and shielding the rest of the fleet.

"Your Astartes vessels are not suitable at long range, Chapter Master. Not only are you disadvantaged further out, but your warriors can handle whatever bio-forms pierce the void between ships." Even Toleptus knew it was a hard sell. For all their might, the space marines would incur horrendous casualties should the battle come to the decks of their voidships.

"This is a rudimentary plan," the Admiral continued, "and it should be remembered as such. When we arrive, we shall determine if our plans need to be changed. All other objectives shall be attempted as the opportunities present themselves. If there are no further concerns, I must prepare for our arrival." Toleptus remained seated while the Chapter Master and Magos departed with their sycophants. He was about to release himself from the command throne when a voice stopped him.

"My Lord, a transmission from outside the ship is attempting to make contact with us," his aide informed the near-empty room. Toleptus watched the Inquisitor's eyes dart towards the cowled statue-of-a-man.

"Have they identified themselves?" he addressed his aide. The dark hood shook back and forth. "You appear to have some knowledge of the transmissions sender, Inquisitor Malvol."

"I have… suspicions, Lord High Admiral." The agent faltered in his answer, confirming the Admiral's private speculation.

"Then please, Inquisitor, inform us of this mysterious person." Toleptus waved him on, putting a hint of mockery into the gesture.

"It is someone that you would do well to answer, My Lord," the Inquisitor replied, eyes glinting in the light of the hologram.

"No doubt the both of you think so." The naval officer cupped his chin with a hand, drawing out his made-up mind. "By all means, let us speak with this intruder on my sanctum."

His aide activated the projector, revealing the ghostly image of a shaven head overlooking a craggy, pitted face. Stern features revolved around a mouth set into a perpetual frown, dark brows jutting over eyes who's only hint at being unnatural were a glittering silver pupil with pinpricks of red at the center of the iris. To Toleptus, they reminded him of targeting lasers for plasma weapons housed only on the Imperium's biggest vessels. It was an accurate description for the Lord Inquisitor.

On the few occasions where his and the Lord Inquisitor's paths had crossed, the man had been as straight as a lazgun's projectile. Once he set a goal, it was reached by any means short of heresy. For such a brutal and pragmatic approach to protecting the soul of mankind, the agent was cunning and deceptive. He was like a spider at the center of a web; Acolytes, informants and underlings formed strands of information that stretched out across his part of the sector. If a threat disturbed his web, he maneuvered other strands to neutralize the problem. Rarely did he himself move from his commanding position, only coming into the light when circumstances required someone of greater authority, or more power.

"Greetings, Lord Inquisitor," he said to the image. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Admiral Amios. I trust that the council meeting went well." It was less of a question and more of a statement acknowledging the barest hint of decorum between individuals.

"As well as can be expected when one of the fleet's leading players are absent, I suppose." The projection waved a hand dismissively.

"The representative I sent will inform me of what transpired. My acolyte's ships will not interfere with your battle plans."

"Are you saying you will not be taking part in the fleets operations?" Toleptus asked, raising a single brow.

"You have your orders, Lord High Admiral, and my order has other missions to accomplish besides annihilation. We will accompany you to the Octarius Sector and then part ways."

Toleptus narrowed his eye at the vision of the Lord Inquisitor. No doubt the Inquisition had different goals than his, but the callous dismissal grated against his nerves.

"When I sent out the summons, you readily heeded the call and placed your ships at my disposal. Only now that we are underway does your word change, when there is no turning back."

"I gave no word of our continued alliance," the Master said, his cool tone underlying the conniving glint in his gaze. "You will serve your purpose in your role, as all subjects of our glorious God-Emperor do."

"The lives of my guardsmen and sailors are not currency that you can use to barter for time in your secret endeavors."

"Your name is the Emperor's Shield, if I recall. My holy agents are on missions vital to the continued existence of humanity. The lives of a few soldiers are nothing compared to what they shall accomplish." Smugness mixed with arrogance upon his aged face.

"I will have need of every man and woman before we are through, Inquisitor. They are not to be wasted on a whim."

The Lord Inquisitor regarded him coolly. They stared at each other, their wills vying for dominance across lightyears. The projection was the first to speak.

"Your hatred for the xenos is well-documented, High Admiral. It appears that your recent promotion has done little to temper your anger and bloodlust for their deaths." The veneer of civility dropped away like a mask of parchment in a rainstorm. "You are of interest to the Inquisition, Lord High Admiral, but the more conservative of my colleagues believe you are too much of a liability."

"My standing with members of your order are irrelevant. The High Lords of Terra entrusted me to carry us to victory."

"They entrusted a competent commander to do what was necessary. No matter what the cost." His voice cut through the static of the projector. "You would destroy the Tyranids and Orks as you destroyed the Aeldari craftworld near Sigmus II." The Inquisitor paused. "Sacrificing half of your fleet to destroy the xenos pest. The sub-sector was weakened for decades because of that fateful battle."

"I will do," he said, gritting his teeth to reel in the frustration, "as I must."

"As must I."

"We shall continue this once we arrive in-system, Lord Inquisitor. It appears we are approaching the edge of the system," Toleptus said, glancing at his aide who had remained still the entire time. "Until then I shall enjoy speaking with your colleague. No doubt our talks will be enlightening. May the Emperor's light guide you to a safe passage your journey's end." Said Lord Inquisitor's mouth turned up slightly.

"May The Emperor guide your Navigator as well."

The connection terminated, leaving behind a darkened room and a scowling Inquisitor.

"Did you know of your master's duplicity?" Toleptus asked, rubbing at the puckered flesh around his bionic eye.

"Aye, I knew of his intentions before arriving," the Malvol answered. "I tried to convince him that such a plan would not go over well."

Toleptus disconnected himself from the command throne, his aide approaching with silent footsteps. They exited to the command room in-step, Malvol following close behind.

"Aide, what is our proximity to the Mandeville Point?" the Inquisitor asked, following behind the two.

"We are approximately nine standard minutes from the jump point, Inquisitor," the aide buzzed. "Attempting to leave Gellar Field range is unadvisable for the duration of travel."

"I shall have quarters prepared for you. In the meantime, you and I will have much to discuss." Malvol swallowed at the prospect.

"I am at your disposal, Lord High Admiral."

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**THREE MONTHS AGO, TERRAN STANDARD TIME, OCTARIUS SECTOR**

The ship was incredibly cramped. Nearly half of the scout's interior was given over to the plasma drives, another third housed the astropathic choir they used to communicate with their superiors, and the remaining portions of the ship bore the machines needed to spy upon unsuspecting foes. Which left little space for the long-range reconnaissance throne, let alone the living room for three other crewmen.

At the moment, Kryer's consciousness was not troubled by the whims of his mortal body. His mind spanned the breadth of the Octarius System, ever-present in every corner of its vast space. With a thought, he could 'see' the blazing spots of energy that indicated a starship or operations base. If he concentrated in one place, he could even see the larger greenskin machines that shook worlds with their plodding footsteps. His perception reached across the cosmos and gave him a view that no other human could hope to understand. With that omniscience, he could allow his crewmates to glimpse a rudimentary understanding of what he could grasp with the throne, passing the information to the astropathic choir their puny vessel housed.

But for all his cognition, he was still only a man. Sitting upon the augery throne was an emaciated shadow of a human, its bones poking beneath papery skin, fed by IV's that gave it the nutrients to survive and not a calorie more. Dull, listless eyes rested inside sunken sockets, a viper's nest of wires and tubes trailing from the back of its skull. The skeletal figure was his corporeal form.

He loathed the weak form he had been birthed with. After discovering the wonders of this sight, reality was debilitating. The thought of leaving this great perception behind pained him to the core, bordering on fearful. He would do his Emperor-given duty until his mind collapsed from the strain. Until then, he would track the movements of leader of the greenskins, an Ork who had become infamous across the galaxy for the destruction he left in his wake.

Eyedis replaced Kryer's nutrient bag, pitying the auger reader as he whined yet again in his catatonic state. She made sure to steer clear of their enginseer who was in the process of the making sure the cables snaking out of the augury's angular head were properly connected. The red-robed Tech-priest was affable in most circumstances but abhorred anyone being underfoot. As the technician worked, an unbroken string of vocals emerged from the priest's vocalizer. What exactly he was saying in the language of the Martian cant, she had no idea beyond 'supplications to the throne's machine spirit".

After ensuring that the flow of liquid had resumed, Eyedis returned to the screens depicting the augery's senses as the enginseer finished his ministrations and shuffled into the rear of the ship. The fuzzy feed focused on one of the inner planets where a Tyranid incursion had manifested a few days ago. Their person-of-interest had made landfall after that and had not left yet.

She shivered at the memory of that briefing. The images of a massive Ork form had accompanied their directives. According to reports, the leader who had orchestrated several wars in a single system across 150 years was bigger than a tank. The creature was studded with replacement scrap and covered in weapons and armor.

Now here they were, spying on the Ork from across the system and feeding his movements to Imperium listening posts elsewhere. What happened to their reports on the Ork, and the overall situation in Octarius after they were reported, was above her pay. Eyedis only did as she was told.

"The astropathic communique is reported as sent," said the enginseer, shuffling up behind her. "Astropaths confirm the message was received and have powered down for a recharge cycle."

"They took a nap," she translated. "How is the throne doing? He's been on there for three days now."

"Augury machine spirit communicates that it is performing at 89.23% functionality due to prolonged usage," the red-robed priest answered. It extended a hand, the exterior of a metal finger sliding away to reveal a cogitator insert. "Recommendation: Remove Auger Agent Kryer from the throne receptacles until the holy machinery is able to function at a minimum of 95%."

"Good luck with that endeavor," she sighed. "He always hates coming off it. I swear, he sounds like a drug addict whenever he's not sitting there. 'I'm fine, I'm better now. Just put me back on the throne'."

"His remarks are consistent with a high degree of engagement for designated purpose," the priest intoned. It's green eye-lights dimmed when it inserted the appendage into the ship's cogitators. She held in any remarks, knowing the enginseer would not converse while it was plugged into the machine. His hunched form remained that way for some time before the boredom set in.

Eyedis contemplated asking the astropaths if they were interested in a game of cards when Kryer's moans intensified behind her. She turned around to see the man's normally closed eyes were open, pupils shaking back and forth with worrying speed. His mouth open, a continual groan tumbling out and only getting louder, like a waterfall in the midst of a hurricane.

Her forehead creased with worry, the frenetic beeping of the screen she had been examining caught her attention. Before, it had focused on one particular ship on one of the system's planets. Now, it showed a blizzard of snow at the edge of the system. The screen was covered in a flurry of contacts, as if an asteroid field had appeared out of thin air. It registered an ever-expanding sea of scrap and rock, a fleet of roughly built vessels emerging from the Warp. And it was heading towards them!

The groans turned to screams, building in intensity the more that showed. Veins bulged in the throne-bound man's skinny neck, pulsing lividly in time with a rapid heartbeat. She had no idea what was happening to Kryer, but her instruments told her enough.

"Fozett! Release Kryer from the throne, now!" she yelled at the Tech-priest, rushing towards the astropath's sleeping quarters. Every klaxon in the cockpit was going off as she swerved around consoles and machinery in her mad dash for their only source of extra-galactic communication. The two female psykers looked up with sightless eyes as she burst through the doors of their cabin.

"You need to get back to the choir-chamber, we have to get a message out," she said breathlessly. "More greenskins arrived, a massive fleet is headed this way." They both nodded, reaching for shirts as she retreated to the cockpit. The back of the ship offered no solace from the hoarse shriek of the augery. It filled the small space and rattled the teeth inside her jaw. Fozett's hands were a blur across the controls, droning at the machine-spirits in an attempt to calm their blaring cries. Cables still contained Kryer to his visions of the system. Wet tearing silenced the auger's howls, tortured gasps still sliding from torn vocal chords.

"Unhook him before the throne breaks his mind." She reached for the cables covering the nape of his neck, scrabbling for the plugs. An iron ring encircled her wrist, yanking her away from the throne. Fozett's adamantium hands restrained hers in an unyielding grip.

"The machine-spirit must conclude informing Kryer of its sensor readings or it will terminate his mind." The Tech-priest wrenched her hands upward, holding them in place with his dominating mechanical strength. Around them alarms clamored, the throne's captive wheezing along in a soul-scaring symphony.

"It's going to destroy his mind anyways, let go!" Her yell ended in a wash of static that cascaded through instruments and screens. Sparks filled the air alongside acrid smoke as the ships blessed electrical organs where fried by a tide of surging power. She watched in horror as a spacefaring planetoid of cobbled-together scrap eclipsed the bridge window.

"By The Emperor…"

Her last breath was given over to swearing to her sovereign. For all her faith and belief in him, it did not stop the Ork battleship from smashing through their tiny vessel, scattering its five occupants to the void and splintering the scout ship's hull across space like shards of glass.

Their oxygen depleted bodies became smears upon the prows of mighty vessels created for the sole purpose of war. They would never know that their telepathic message of the impending Ork reinforcements had never been sent, nor that the sector commander would never learn of their fate. But one of the Imperium's worst fears had come to pass.

Orks from all over the galaxy had heeded the summons of their leader. By the trillions they had come to fight apocalyptic battles, for battle's sake. Unbeknownst to the humans, the Orks would turn the tide of the war, drowning Hive Fleet Leviathan beneath a maelstrom of green flesh, hurling the bio-invaders back into space. The remnants of the once vast, living flotilla would retreat from the greenskin menace, a shadow of its former self.

The much-reduced Tyranids would flee the system, their psychic disturbance passing through the space between stars, and into the arms of the approaching liberators…

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**2 WEEKS, 5 DAYS OUTSIDE DESIDIA SYSTEM, TERRAN STANDARD TIME**

_This_. _This_ was what it meant to be alive. Staring into the depths of the warp, daring the creatures in the dark to reach out and swat his ship from the path he designed it to go. Danger lurked just outside the vision of his third eye, formless shapes that echoed his darkest fears and deepest desires. The phantoms of the Warp whispered into his soul, visible only to the blazing orb in his forehead. They tempted his attention with promises of the secrets of the universe, if only he would deviate from the stream his ship glided through. All he had to do was drift into the tempest of the ocean of souls and all his hearts desires would be his.

Their enticement fell upon deaf ears. His all-seeing eye peered into the madness of the crackling currents but looked beyond its swirling depths to the beacon of light that was the Astronomican. Its radiance dispelled the alluring voices, showing him the daemons for what they were: bringers of false hope, deceivers of the pure.

The warp twisted around him, changing in an ever-shifting dance of straining souls. The flow of time and space contorted, the relatively safe current they drifted upon coiling in on itself like a snake in the throes of death. Threads of appendages reached out from the stained mist around them, but he nudged the voidship away, steering them clear of the roiling tide that threatened to throw them of course.

Soon, they would pass beyond the tear in space-time, onto the side of the galaxy shrouded by the taint of the Warp. When they did so, the soul-scar that had split the Imperium in two would obscure the Astronomican's holy light, making their journey even more perilous as he and his brethren guided the armada to their destination. No longer would their void crossing be fraught with mere danger but become nigh-impossible for a fleet of such size to arrive intact. Luckily for the crewmen of the starships he led, he was a skilled Navigator, bred from one of the mightiest bloodlines seen in thousands of years. Generations of gene-wrights had blessed him with both skill and will. Not only could he chart a path through the shifting sea of the Warp but hold them to it for as long he held out. That was why he led the armada from the Admiral's flagship. He was the one to spear through the unknown and show safe passages through raging tides for the innumerable Navigators behind him.

He was the one to charge fearlessly into the dark. He was also the one to feel the disturbance first.

The Admiral had collaborated with him and the host of other Navigators to plot the best route through the stars, relying on a combination of his own experience as commander of voidships and their understanding of the expanding and shrinking tides. The path they had chosen was one that would put every Navigator to the test, bridging the gap between time and safety to accomplish the warmaster's goals as best as possible.

A disturbing queasiness descended upon him as he sat within the arms of his throne. Nausea and sickness were not uncommon to those who dared to harness the power of the Warp, so he pushed it aside, refusing to rest when their journey had only begun three weeks ago. He had a schedule to keep and a reputation to uphold.

The sensation did not abate, instead morphing into a dread of psychic proportions. His third eye began to itch in time with his scalp, a rising turbulence of fear and futility growing like a mutated weed inside him. The texture of the ocean changed before his eyes, pinpricks of jagged reality distorting the familiarity of the Warp in ways he had never encountered. Horror filtered through his shield of calm as he realized that something had gone horrifically wrong. The Warp was shifting, breaking apart.

As his terror grew, the sea of souls grew unnervingly calm. It's roiling surface became smooth as glass, the imperfections and rips mending and becoming whole. Something was forcing this change, creating an eye in the storm-wracked ocean of the Immaterium. A switch was flipped.

The air became filled with a trillion, trillion chittering voices, tearing open his mind and scrabbling at the gaping cavity that was his head with a cacophony of mouths speaking with one voice. The psychic screaming of a vast entity beyond understanding shredded the Navigator's sanity into fragments beyond recovery. He frothed at the mouth, bound to his throne as his opulent quarters were filled with the anguished cries of insanity, a howl that was taken up by every psyker in the fleet.

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Mechanical limbs twitched in the air, waving in time with the choir of Tech-priests that pleaded with the machine spirit to calm itself. Servitors bound to the plasma drives main energy pylons convulsed with spine-breaking ferocity, unrestrained power coursing through their veins. Red robes filled the caverns of the voidship's single most powerful vestige, chanting prayers for the drive's spirit to contain the power surge or risk all of their deaths.

The senior-most Tech-priest canted in the holy language of machines, filtering out the stench of charred flesh. The stale air pounded with the basso rumble of the ship's primary propulsion system as it struggled to not burst at the seams of its adamantium encasing. The senior Tech-priest shuffled to the side, allowing someone else to take his place in the ring of worship that circled the machine.

Enhanced legs carried him towards an offshoot of the gargantuan chamber, a specialized room that held the only thing keeping them from the terrors of the Warp. He passed through the fortified entrance, his mechadendrites shoving aside two apprentice Tech-priests to examine the delicate workings of the Gellar Field machinery. Emotions of the flesh warred with the cold logic of his augmentations.

Fragile technology had been fused in the backlash of the machine spirit's suffering. It had not been able to contain the pain of the ship's collision and its machine-scream had affected other ship system's. The Tech-priest's arms obeyed his unconscious command, darting back and forth to pick and prod in an attempt to rejuvenate the failing mechanisms. He worked feverishly, pulling out and replacing pieces in an attempt to forestall the fate.

The sputtering instruments leveled out under his ministrations, becoming smoother in motion, but the damage had been done. He had the tools and equipment to recreate many of the Gellar Fields damaged pieces, but not the more complicated, necessary ones. There wasn't enough time for the ship's manufactorums to build another one. The Gellar Field would fail. By his estimates, they had minutes to prepare.

"Deploy Skitarii units to critical ship systems," he canted to a nearby Adept. "Alert the bridge that the Gellar Field will collapse in less than 10 standard minutes. Daemonic incursion is imminent."

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Toleptus sprinted down the plush hallways of the officer's deck as fast as his aging body was able. Doors passed by in a blur, the lower ranks of the flagship stumbling of their staterooms to follow him, and even bypass him, in a mad dash to the bridge. Vox machines wailed their messages from the opulent ceiling, the empty drone of a servitor at odds with the dire warning it was broadcasting throughout the vessel.

"Priority: Magenta Alpha. All hands to battles stations. Impending Gellar Field failure. All militarum units report to your nearest station."

He pushed through the burning sensation in his lungs and willed his body to go faster. Plush carpeting turned to lazgun-metal grey as he approached the nervous system of his ship. A river of crewmembers flooded through the adamantium portal of the bridge. Each person that entered added to the din of hectic masses. Specialists yelled back and forth, cogitators clattered away from their wall mountings, alarms clamored for attention. Standing in the middle of it was his second-in-command, Commodore Idrien, flailing about in his attempts to respond to each cry for attention from the subordinates.

The lord high Admiral shoved his way through the crowd, climbing atop the dais the Commodore commanded. Toleptus grasped his underling's shoulders, forcing him to stay still in his flurry of movement.

"Calm yourself Commodore! What is your report?" he yelled over the cacophony of the bridge.

"The ship collided with something and it damaged the plasma drives," the Commodore said, waving over a communicator specialist. "The Tech-priests report that electrical overflow damaged all nearby systems, including the Gellar Field. How long now?"

"Adept Zoriah estimates two minutes," the specialist replied.

"What of the Navigator, why haven't we dropped out of the Warp?" The shutters over the bridges view-windows clued him in that they were still traveling through the soup of madness.

"The Navigators and all psykers on the ship have gone mad. Many have died and the rest are blazing out of control with dark energies. We tried exiting into real space, but we were nearly sheared in half when the ship drifted away from the portal."

"Get any militarum units to the Warp drive. Tell them they have my personal orders to kill anyone who stands in their way or threatens the drive. If we lose that, we'll never get out of here." With that, the lord high Admiral pulled out his worn bolt pistol and banged on the metal railing until he had the bridge crew's attention.

"Prepare to be boarded! Barricade the doors and hand out weapons," he called out. "Hail any personnel near the Navigator tower and tell them to pull that mutant from his throne." The bridge burst into motion, lazguns passing through myriad hands while the bridge doors sealed shut. Enginseers applied fresh purity seals to the adamantium portal, as if the scraps of paper with prayers written on them would keep the eldritch abominations at bay.

"My lord," Toleptus' aide said from his side, having appeared as if from thin air, "Inquisitor Malvol reports that he and a contingent of Scions have secured the Librarium."

"Tell him to abandon his position and make for the Navigator chambers." Toleptus' mind raced. The Scions, elite Inquisitorial soldiers, led by a competent Inquisitor, would fare better than any of his ship's integrated soldiers. "By hook or by crook, we will deal with the Navigator."

"The Inquisitor acknowledges the order, and will carry it out swiftly," his aide responded after a short moment.

"If anyone delays even a moment, we may be beyond hope," the Commodore muttered. He held a lazgun in both hands, watching the ensigns erect hasty barriers. A servo skull floated past them, broadcasting litanies to the God-Emperor on a continuous loop above their heads. The men began to speak in time, quoting scripture and prayer to their holy sovereign on Terra. Toleptus followed along under his breath.

"Gellar Field failure!"

The crew froze at the vox-caster's cry. The walls of the bridge distended inward, bowing with physical impossibility. They snapped back, not disturbing the realm around them, as pipes snaked from the walls, transforming into eye- covered tentacles and multi-jointed arms. A forest of grasping appendages clawed the air around the sailors, the men pulling away in abject terror. Planes and shapes merged in ways that could be seen but were to enormous to comprehend, crowding into his brain with dizzying effect.

Several of the crew dropped to the deck, crying out like newborns as their minds collapsed under the weight of alternate reality. Others lashed out wildly at the comrades around them, bellowing out in sudden rage. Those that weren't fried to a crisp by laz-fire, or pummeled by improvised weapons from the berserk men, struggled to bring down their incensed crewmembers. Chaos thrived in the packed masses of peons, but Toleptus only had eyes for the servo-skull still pronouncing The Emperor's divinity amidst the crowd.

It shivered in midair, struggling against some unseen foe. Streams of red smoke coalesced into bloody talons that clasped its bleached exterior, holding the skull in place while it struggled to escape. Arms grew from them; sinuous forms that bulged and rippled with raw, unrestrained power. Shifting limbs clasped the servo-skull and raised it above shoulders that had materialized, already bearing bronze armor of a crude make. The Admiral watched as unholy flesh subsumed the skull, knitting itself over the human bone to form a high helmed head from the collective nightmares of humanity. A slavering tongue coiled out of the beasts fanged maw, whipping about with a mind of its own. Saliva flowed from the open mouth, hissing as it sizzled on the deck.

It now wielded a wicked-looking bastard sword in its claws, jagged and spiked all along its fiery length. The weapon mimicked its wielder's spirit of slaughter and rage. The daemon threw its head back, uttering a throaty roar as deep as the ocean of emotion it was spawned from.

" **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD**!"

"Open fire!"

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Energy beams filled the corridors of the ship, superheating the air and creating a host of darting shadows amidst the hellscape the flagship had become. Fresh blood stains splattered against the walls as raving crewman ran blindly from room to room, hacking and slashing with wild abandon. The humans fulfilled the dark desires of their puppet masters, their minds torn asunder by the madness of the Warp.

The humans were no longer safe within the bubble of reality projected by the Gellar Field. Now, they were at the mercy of uncaring entities with powers of unfathomable reach. They were within their own domain. Around the flagship, shadows of pure thought twisted their way through the miasma of the other dimension, drawn like sharks to a bleeding wound. Their minds were beacons that shone like fire as they traveled along currents emotion. The night terrors reached into the ship, eager for raw power they would strip from the mortals.

Within the nightmare hallways, Malvol pushed forward through butchered corpses and bloodthirsty manifestations of pure death. Behind him, black-armored Scions wielded their lazguns with brutal efficiency, following the commands of the Inquisitor as he led them into the bowels of the ship.

A torrent of bolter fire screeched from his weapon of choice, slamming into the daemon that was stooping over a fresh kill, intent upon it like some hell spawn carnivore. While his gun was scaled down from those used by the Astartes, its explosive-tipped rounds were no less devastating against most foes. Daemons of the warp were not normal enemies, though.

Halos of fire covered the creature's skin, punctuated by beams of light from the Scions behind him. The monster turned from its prize, glaring through the smoke and lights that seemed to have no effect. With a shuddering howl it charged down the corridor, raising three brawny, spike-studded arms to ward against their firepower.

"Throw the charges, Priestly," Malvol yelled at one of the Scions. A satchel went sailing toward the creature as it plowed through everything in its path, forcing its huge girth through the narrow spaces. Glistening spikes at each elbow carved through the walls, leaving behind great furrows in the metal.

The satchel landed just in front of the monster's path, erupting into a glass-shattering fireball when the creature was over top of it. The Inquisitor shielded himself from the heat and whizzing debris, reloading his bolter with the precious seconds he had. He swung back around, already aiming down the sights when the pyrotechnics cleared.

Both of the monster's legs had been blown off, leaving behind ragged stumps that bled pure Warp stuff. It let loose another bellow that pained Malvol's ears, before pulling itself across the floor with all three arms.

"Let the daemon taste our steel!" He squeezed the trigger, adding his own bolt shells to the storm of laz fire. This time, the daemon, paused, thrashing around in anguish even as it dragged its malformed body closer. With a scream of "For The Emperor!" he rushed forward, activating his power sword. The purple blade hummed under his touch with disruptive energies, its edges shining with lethality. The weapon had been thrice blessed by holy emissaries of The Emperor, making it effective against the minions of the Warp.

He ducked under a blow from the hellish arms, reaching out to stab the thing's head. The blade missed its mark, burying itself in a shoulder when the monster lurched away. Its beady eyes, set in a truncated skull that had no neck to speak of, fixed on the puny material creature that dared to wound it. It leaped at him, gnashing teeth in the hopes of biting the human in two.

Malvol twisted out of the way, fear giving him speed he had not known in his life. Jagged teeth snapped at empty air as he reached for the weapon lodged in the veined body, ripping it out when his hand connected with the pommel.

He swung down, separating the head from the body that thrashed about before exploding in a spray of shadows. The scions closed around him, covering both direction as their leader caught his breath. He deactivated the sword and sheathed it, praising the God-Emperor for giving him the strength for vanquish the daemon.

"Scion Grant, how far are we from our destination?" Malvol asked. He checked his pockets, noting that he had three out of seven clips of bolter ammo remaining. The rest had been used to get them only three decks from the Librarium.

"Less than two hundred meters, Inquisitor," the soldier answered.

"Can you raise anyone on the vox?" His question was followed by a bloodcurdling scream that echoed down the hall from the way their group had come. Grips tightened around lazguns, more barrels pointing in that direction.

"Negative, Inquisitor." Scion Grant's voice remained stoic underneath his helmet. Malvol appreciated the man's mettle, wishing in the secret places of his mind that he was half as assured as this grunt was.

"Then let us hope there are Tech-priests there to greet us." He filled the words with as much bravado as he could muster. "One last mad dash and we'll be at the teleportarium."

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Agony, agony, all was agony. He wrestled with himself, struggled against himself, against his own power, screeching at the unending tide of hunger that buffeted him from all sides.

He was drowning in a river of tears that flooded from his third eye, choking on his own psychic prowess. He was lost forever, cast to the four winds of the Warp by the monsters from the dark. Exhaustion burned his strength to a crisp.

Yet even as his psyche flowed together in the cauldron of his mind, a tiny spark kept alive. A breath in his ear. A voice from the void, speaking to him in calming tones, brushing away the clinging strife that ravaged his consciousness. Silky, golden tones encouraged him to not give in. With his Warp sight, he could see a door, a door that promised hope. The voice whispered that everything would be alright if he reached out, if he guided them through to their last destination. The voice reminded him that he was a Navigator.

The voice retreated, returning to the scrabbling chorus that crawled across the ridges of his brain. It left him with the choice that had been offered. He could give up himself to madness and death, awaiting his eternal slumber in the Warp that had gifted him his powers. Or he could fight on, for just a little longer, and do his sworn duty. He was born a ferryman of madness, bound to the Warp for as long as he lived and then after. He had a sacred duty to uphold, even if he failed.

Like a sea captain from the ancient days of Terra, he clawed up from beneath the crushing weight of the alien cloud. With ropes of willpower he lashed together the shattered vessel of his psyche, bringing disparate pieces of himself back together. When the last deranged bit of his mind was under tenuous control, he reached out, braving the thunderous sound.

Navigators held no innate ability to communicate with others across the Warp. They could sense the hidden paths in the ever-changing realms and plot their courses, but not to speak across the vast distances of the cosmos. He could not tell others what to do, but he could _show_ them.

Even amidst their own torturous existence, the other Navigators of the fleet still followed their shepherd. He didn't have the strength to care about the number that still lived, only that he work quickly before the heaving deck underneath him gave way and his sanity was lost. A touch was enough to nudge a ship into line behind him, the Navigator of it instinctively correcting amidst the insanity that consumed his lesser mind.

The ordeal left him drained. He didn't know if he could do it again, the bright spots of human souls mocking him from within their ships. He could practically hear their scorn for his weakness.

His own mad ravings galvanized him to reach out again and again, bringing his few living kin into the fold. For the first time in his life, he thanked the God Emperor that he could neither hear nor feel the other psykers. With that monumental task finished, he looked to the door in the Warp he had glimpsed, guiding his flock away from the calm streams and into the depths.

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The fortified doors to the teleportation chambers had been wrenched off their hinges, thrown to the side like castaway toys. From where Malvol stood down the hallway, he could see a pool of blood seeping across the floor. He peered back and forth as he approached the door, looking for signs of daemons or incensed sailors. No signs of immediate danger greeted his senses, only a warbling drone that set his teeth on edge. It passed through the doorway like a breath of wind from the coldest peaks of his home world, sending shivers up his spine.

"Is anyone alive?" Malvol called out. "By order of the Inquisition, I am requisitioning use of the teleporters." He shuffled closer, his eyes tracking the growing red puddle. "Are there any Tech-priests that can assist us on our holy mission?" There was no response. Even the warbling had stopped.

He entered the room, followed closely by his retinue. Standing nearly as tall as a habitation block, the teleportation grid was an apparatus of monolithic scale, able to materialize soldiers at any given point within its range. Across from the entrance the transmitter, a circular disk that crackled with blue energy, pulsated in time to the heartbeat of the system's generator. Off to the side was the machine's control room, filled with panels and dashboards to regulate the materials it could fling across the cosmos. Even in times of inactivity, the teleportarium would have been a hub of activity as enginseers attended the ancient technology, administering repairs and prayers. Now it was a macabre tomb.

Servitors had been pulled from the harnesses their bodies had been interred in, ripped apart and tossed around. Red robes of the Tech-priests blended in with the blood that flowed from their remaining biological parts, mechanical limbs lying about like a nest of dead snakes. A hunched form crouched in the center of the room, stumbling from side to side.

"Tech-priest, what happened here?" he demanded, swallowing the bile that was collecting in the back of his throat. The Scions spread out behind him, their weapons pointed at the Mechanicus servant who didn't answer, except to stand erect. Mechadendrites twitched.

"The flash bag wants to know what happened." The voice was like sandpaper and low, so low he almost didn't hear it. "But it doesn't ask the most important question." For the first time since becoming an Inquisitor, Malvol feared asking a question.

"Does the meat sack know the pleasures of its own flesh?" The question was punctuated by crimson drops dripping from the Tech-priest's hands, the figure turning to show the intruders that it was covered in blood that had been daubed on generously in the shape of an eight-pointed star. The sign of Chaos.

He raised his bolter to fire, but the Tech-priest was already scuttling across the floor. It speared a Scion through the chest with a mechadendrite, knocking him to the ground with a flurry of its other limbs. He struggled to stand up from the congealed blood he had fallen in. His boots refused traction on the slippery surface as another Scion was split open by the Tech-priest's improvised weapons. The Inquisitorial soldiers screamed at each other, trying to find clear lanes of fire at the possessed being through their own ranks.

A mechanical limb slammed next to his head, buckling the deck slightly. The Tech-priest bent down, looming over Malvol. Behind the shadow of his hood, the Inquisitor could see the points of his eyes scintillating between red and purple.

It hissed at him; the stink of death wrapped around its cybernetic body like a second cloak. "Will the fleshling feel pain, the glorious, overwhelming agony, as I strip its skin from its body?"

He tried squirming away from it through the blood, succeeding only in smearing the substance upon his back even further. A clattering laughter filled the Tech-priest's voice box, as if someone were rattling gears in a container.

The deranged Mechanicus priest stumbled backward with a metallic screech, its face smashed in by the butt of a lazgun.

Scion Priestly called out for focused fire, riddling the mechanical monster with beams of fire. It backed away from them, a wounded animal fleeing when bravado had failed it. It disappeared into the control room amidst a whirlwind of robes, the door slamming behind it.

"Lock down that door you two," Malvol said, motioning to two of the remaining Scions. "I don't want it escaping while we work."

"Sir, if we lock the control room, how are we going use the teleporters?" one of the Scions asked.

"The teleportarium will have a secondary command panel nearby. The Mechanicum likes its redundancy," he answered, shaking the loose blood off of his outer coat. The Scions acquiesced, following the Inquisitors orders.

They found their prize moments later, several panels rising up from secret hatches in the deck plates. He scrutinized the various instruments. He could do this unaided given enough time, but Malvol wished that one of the Tech-priests had survived to speed up the process. With a few flicks and button presses, the teleporters thrummed to life around him. He smirked in victory, changing the readings over from teleporting to a certain location, choosing a pre-calculated section of the ship. He set the target to the Navigator's tower and rushed over to the teleport pad, the Scions following close behind.

The air crackled with restrained power as the machine prepared to whisk them away. Then, with a flash of light, they were gone.

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The path was treacherous. Time and again the Navigator turned the ships from an obstacle, only to be confronted by another. Whether they were planetoids that thrived off the energies of the Warp, or behemoth beings that slumbered until summoned by an unknown call, he strived to keep them on the safest path. Ever and again, he could see the door at the end of his tunnel vision. Up and over a shoal of wrecked ships. Past a flock of winged abominations.

Ahead was a narrow passage. The warp converged around them the closer the enigmatic door became, funneling downward toward their last hope. Above were waves of energies that would dash their ships to pieces. Below, an empty abyss that promised only extinction and utter end. There was no other choice.

When he was still a child, before leaving for service aboard a Warp-faring vessel, he had been taught how to sew by a few of the elders in his family. They had told him that it encouraged patience and precision, especially when starting out. He had scoffed at the archaic form then. Now, he threaded the eye of the needle.

His attention flitted between guiding the other ships in the fleet and making sure he wasn't slammed against the precipice to either side. His was the largest among the vessels still remaining, focusing on keeping his own ship steady. His attention slipped for a brief moment, as the vessel drifted to far up into the waves of Warp energies. He frantically corrected after the battleship had taken a brief beating.

It was so close now, he felt he could reach out and touch it. A tingle of satisfaction suffused him, buoying-

**_cries for help screams of the damned monsters pouring in from outside to feast on the souls of the living fear of the ocean and its fate a resolute few a sea of madness_ **

-the Navigator with hope. Behind him another ship veered off course into the endless pit below. The loss of the soldiers and the sailors should have pained him, but his strength was only so much. He had others he could save.

A resistance slowed their progress now, an unexplained slowness that sapped his remaining strength. As if a membrane of-

**_calling out for help an unknown attacker laying waste to the inner chambers of the tower concealed chambers revealing hidden guardians fuzzy awareness of danger closing in_ **

-reality was draped across his path. He pushed forward, forcing his way through the obstacle. There it was! At his ship's approach, the door swung wide, allowing him entrance. He rejoiced as he flew through the door, feeling something… unlike anything he had ever-

**_beams charring the walls around him servants built centuries ago throwing themselves in the path of harm to preserve their attendant echoes of explosion around the curved structure_ **

-felt. Peace. Calmness. Tranquility. And behind it all, a benevolent force that moved life as a man moved pieces of a board. It sought one thing.

Balance.

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There were no more biomechanical bodyguards to save the Navigator now. Malvol lined up the sights of his bolter with the Navigator's head, pressing the trigger and watching the mutant's head disappear in a mist of pulped cranium. With his sword, he parried the frenzied charge of one of the Navigator's personal guard, slashing at the weak points in the guardian's arms. Severed cables dripped fluid even as half-mechanical arms reached for his throat.

The dull crack of his bolter connecting with the foes head sent the guardian reeling, falling to the ground among its already dead brethren. Scions finished off the remaining enemies that had yet to stumble from their compartments around the Navigator's personal chambers.

"Alert the Admiral that the mutant is dead," he said to one of the Scions. "We need to return to the main ship." A hand shot out to grasp his boot. He looked down, realizing that the bodyguard was still alive with a caved in skull. It burbled words between mouthfuls of blood.

"The Navigator families will hear of this treachery." A wet cough racked its corpse before falling still, fingers still clutched around his leg. He shook it loose, marching past.

"Somehow, I can't find the need to care," he replied to the tomb.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to KsserofMen for proofreading.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be posted at the end of each month or earlier, depending on how quickly my brain can communicate with my fingers. If you enjoyed this, leave a comment telling me what I did wrong or how that wouldn't happen in current canon.
> 
> If you have questions, comments or concerns leave a note and I'll try to answer/discuss. I still haven't gotten the hang of Archive of Our Own yet. I'm not sure if I can comment on comments or what is allowed.  
> Can also be found on Fanfiction.net under NightDarkestHour.
> 
> Tags will be added as they become relevant.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the next chapter you beautiful person, you. Unless you identify as something else. In that case, enjoy the next chapter you beautiful attack helicopter, you.


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